The trail led for half a mile or so through the gray trees. Now and then one of the long-tailed "birds" flashed like a shining jewel across some cleared space, the yellow-green sunlight glistening on its fur. Once in a while, a giant jointed thing, like a centipede, fluttered lazily past on wide, scaly wings. From the tree-tops came whistles and hoarse calls. He came at last to the bank of a rushing stream and the needle halted. The beast had taken to the water.
Fenner decided to cast up and down the bank for a little way, in case it had come out on the same side again. He had walked only a short distance, when suddenly he had the distinct feeling that he was under observation. He glanced down at the tracker. The needle had swung over to the right.
He turned slowly in that direction, at the same time cautiously raising his gun. In the corner of his eye, movement flickered. He braced himself and tapped the firing button. A halo of white light surrounded the muzzle, and there was the dull "crump!" of the discharge. He saw a flurry in the leaves of the oil-bushes that grew here and there among the trees. Leaves and bits of branches flew. A mottled gray and brown shape darted like a streak away between the trees.
Fenner ran after it. He began to pant for breath, and sweat dripped into his eyes. The trail led upstream, now, and soon the stream grew more sluggish and broadened, and the gray trees thinned away. There were dank, twisted plants here, some of them eight or ten feet high, and wide stretches of reeds between which gleamed brown water and patches of oily mud. A chorus of chirps sounded from the marsh, dying away at his approach and starting again when he moved on.
Without warning, the needle of the tracker spun round, and Fenner stopped. At the same instant, a lithe form shot out of the reeds towards him. He dodged, throwing himself to the ground. The beast bounded past him, and turned. Fenner rolled over and sat up, groping in the moss for his gun. For a moment they regarded each other, Fenner trying to bring his gun into position. The creature, he saw, had a wedge-shaped face, narrower at the top where the feathery antennae were, wide at the jaw which now gaped showing a double row of small but sharp teeth. Its eyes were round and large, and bulged as a frog's do; they were completely dark purple showing no trace of white. They swiveled forward to stare at him, and as he braced his weapon the beast made a coughing sound and sprang into the reeds.
All was quiet again. Fenner got up slowly, holding his gun ready, and glanced at his tracker. There was a crack across the face of it, and the needle was motionless. It had struck against a stone, when he fell.
He tried to see into the reeds, but he knew it was hopeless. By now, the animal must have changed its color and pattern, and without the tracker to guide him he could distinguish nothing. He commenced to walk upstream, in the hope of somehow flanking it. He unclipped his net capsule and held it ready.