Johnny was struck by an idea. "Baba," he whispered, "do you think it might obey you—just like the arrow-birds?"
"I don't know, Johnny," Baba clicked softly. "I'll try."
Baba started to climb down. By the slow careful way Baba moved, Johnny knew the little bear was afraid, too. It was an awful chance to take. Johnny was about to call him back, but as he opened his lips, the little bear looked up and grinned.
Down Baba went. He was now halfway down the tree, thirty feet from the ground and level with the eyes of the rhinosaur. It caught sight of him, snorted, and pawed the ground, digging up shovelfuls of dirt with each movement.
"Friend-pet! Friend-pet!" Baba clicked and Johnny suddenly wanted to giggle. Imagine having something that size for a pet!
"Friend-pet!" Baba clicked again, "Go away! Go away! Bother us not!"
The big creature stopped still. Muscles rolled and bunched under the heavy blue-grey scales. Was he going to charge or leave?
They never found out.
There was a roar of motors behind the beast, the clank of metal, the deafening blast of an ato-tube gun. The ground shook; leaves showered down on Johnny.
The guards had sent a tank to rescue them!