"Now what?" said Pritchard.
"The One," she breathed. "It's somewhere near. My sextuped would never have bolted like that otherwise."
"Oh, for Pete's sake," said Pritchard, taking her arm. "Come on—"
"Say, Mr. Pritchard, what's that thing over there?" Kemp pointed off to his left.
"Oh, God, no...." Cornelia's voice was a quavering moan.
Pritchard glanced where the stocky lad was pointing. What appeared to be an exceptionally tall and unusually red grass blade was wavering gently, as if bending to a mild breeze, about fifty yards off.
"Hell," muttered Sturgis, "that face is familiar."
Pritchard started walking toward it, the others following him. "Let's fan out a bit," he said, "until we see what this is."
"Come back, come back," came the girl's agonized whisper behind them. "Don't go near...."
They ignored her. At a distance of ten yards Pritchard halted. They all watched with consuming curiosity.