Barry stood up trembling.
A coveralled and hooded figure emerged from the swamp, carrying a carbine from which a wisp of smoke still curled.
"Barry, did I—?" Under the smears of mud Dorothy's face was pale.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded.
"I saw him following your trail, and I guessed—"
A head broke water beside the log. Dorothy fired, but Barry knocked the muzzle skyward just in time to deflect the bullet. Then he knelt to give Xintel a hand up.
The Venusian girl cleared her lungs, rubbed one webbed hand across her eyes, then gave Dorothy a long, level stare.
"He breathes like you?" she asked.
"No."
"Good. Did she kill him or did I?"