"Just where are your men now, sir?" Langford asked.
Something happened to Gurney's face. His features twitched and the strained intensity of his stare increased so sharply he seemed to be staring right through Langford into space.
"Those devilish things attacked us!" he muttered. "Exactly as that little statue did! There were dozens of them, ten feet tall, and they kept coming. We blasted, but the charges went right through them; they lifted my lads up in their devilish preying arms and dumped them in the river!"
Sweat gleamed on Gurney's brow. "It was ghastly, Langford. In the river—like pieces of dead timber. The current carried them downstream. I was helpless. I—I kept blasting, but I couldn't save them!"
"How did you save yourself?" Langford asked.
Gurney passed a dripping hand over his brow. "I was struggling with one of them when everything went blank. That's all I remember."
Langford stood up. "I don't understand it. Why did that creature go away and leave you with your face submerged? Why didn't it make sure you'd drift downstream too?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Langford!" Gurney jerked a tremulous hand toward the wall of foliage on the opposite bank. "Why don't you swim over to their ship and ask them? You'll find the ship in a clearing about three hundred yards from the bank. They've cleared a path to it."
"That's just what I intend to do!" Langford said.
Joan paled and moved swiftly to his side, her eyes wide with alarm. "Ralph! You're not going alone—"