“Not too close,” Garth cautioned. “Let me test it first.”
Brown stared at him. “What now? I’m getting to expect anything here.” The man’s expressionless face showed signs of strain and exhaustion. He had no nerves, apparently, but the gruelling journey had told on him nevertheless.
Garth used his knife to cut down a sapling. He impaled a leaf on its point and extended it gingerly over the dark water. After a moment he felt a shock like a striking fish, and the pole was nearly wrenched from his hands. And he wrestled with it, Brown’s hands gripped the sapling.
“What the devil! Garth—”
“Let it go. I was only testing, anyway.” The pole was dragged into the water, where it thrashed about violently for a few moments.
“What is it?”
Garth was searching through the underbrush for something. “Water-snakes. Big ones—perfectly transparent. They wait for some animal to come along and take a drink. Then—bang!” He nodded. “Here we are. We’ll find a lot of the Noctoli flowers from now on.”
He brought out a bloom nearly a foot in diameter, with leaves of pulpy, glossy black, a thick powdering of silver in its cup. “This is Noctoli, Captain. Looks harmless, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Brown rubbed his forehead. “The pollen gives you amnesia?”
“In the daytime, when it’s active. It’s phototropic—needs light. Jupiter can’t have set yet, so this ought to work.” Garth found another pole, speared the flower on its tip, and extended the blossom over the water. He shook the silver dust into the stream.
“It works fast. The snakes will be paralyzed in a few seconds. The current carries off the pollen, we dip up the water we need—and that’s that.”
Paula appeared through the bushes, glancing around warily. In the last week everyone had learned to be alert always. Lines of fatigue showed on her pale face. Red-gold hair was plastered damply on her forehead.
“Carver—”
“What’s up?”
She glanced at Garth, “The men. Sampson’s talking to them.”
Brown’s rattrap mouth clamped tight. “That so? Sampson shoots off his mouth too much. What’s the angle?”
“I think they want to go back.”
Garth, dipping up water in the canvas buckets, said, “We’ve only three more days to go, unless we run into bad country.”
“I know. But—they’re armed.”
“I’ll talk to ’em,” Brown said quietly. He lifted two of the pails and started up the path, Paula and Brown trailing him. Presently they reached the clearing where camp had been made.
The men weren’t cooking. Instead, they were gathered in a knot around Sampson, whose blazing red hair stood up like a beacon. Brown put down his burden and walked toward them.
They broke up at sight of him, but didn’t scatter. Sampson’s hand crept imperceptibly toward his holster.
“Trouble?” Brown asked.
Sampson squinted at him. “No trouble. Except we didn’t know the Forest would be as bad as it is.”
“So you want to go back?”
“You can’t blame us for that,” Sampson said, hunching his heavy shoulders. “It’s only dumb luck that’s kept us alive so far. We didn’t bargain for this, Captain.”
“I told you what to expect.”
“All you said was that it’d be dangerous. None of us knew the Forest. Those damn bloodsucker plants are the worst. They reach out at a guy everywhere he turns. And the other things—we can’t get through, Captain! You ought to be able to see that yourself!”
“Nobody’s been killed so far.”
“Blind luck. And Garth, too. He knows this country. If we didn’t have him, we wouldn’t have lasted a day.”
“We’ve got him,” Brown said crisply. “So we’re going on. Only three more days, anyhow. That’s enough. Start cooking your rations.” He turned his back on Sampson and walked away. The red-haired giant hesitated, scowling. Finally he shrugged and glanced around at the others.
That broke the tension. One by one the men scattered to prepare food.
Only Garth was gnawed by a persistent, deep-rooted fear. He didn’t admit it, even to himself. But he watched Brown closely that night, and finally unpacked his medical kit and carefully searched it for something he knew wasn’t there.
He was dreading the next morning.
V
Slow reddish dawn brightened over the Forest. Garth felt someone shaking him. He grunted, stirred, and opened his eyes to see Paula’s white face, and, behind her, Sampson.
“Yeah. What’s wrong?” He scrambled out of his blankets, blinking. The girl, pale to the lips, pointed toward a recumbent figure.
“Carver. Captain Brown. He’s—I don’t know!”
Sampson said gruffly, “Looks like he’s dead. The men on guard duty said he didn’t move once all night.”
Icy bands constricted suddenly around Garth’s heart. Without answering he got his kit and went over to examine Brown. The man lay motionless, his breathing normal, but a deep flush on his brown cheeks.
“It isn’t the Plague, is it?” Sampson asked, his voice not quite under control.
Garth shook his head. “Hell, no! It’s—” He hesitated.
Paula caught his arm. “What? Some insect poisoned him—one of those butterfly-things?”
Garth carefully repacked his kit. He didn’t look up.
“He’s got a dose of the Noctoli pollen. That’s all. It’s not fatal. He’ll come out of it after he leaves the Forest, or after he builds up immunity.”
“How long would that take?”
“A month or more.”
Garth bent over the apparently sleeping man. “Get up, Brown,” he said insistently. “Hear me? Get up?”
The Captain stirred. His eyes opened, blank and unseeing. He drew himself from his blankets and rose, looking straight ahead. Paula shrank back with a little gasp. There was a flurry of movement among the men in the background.
“He’ll be all right tonight. The poison only works in the daytime—I’ve told you that.”
“We can’t march at night,” Paula said. “Not—here!”
“I know. It’s impossible. Our lights would attract the butterflies—and plenty of other things.”
Sampson whirled on the others. “Pack your equipment! We’re getting out of here, fast!”
They hurried to obey. Paula got in front of Sampson as he turned, and the giant stopped, blinking at her.
“You can’t leave the Captain here,
