When Nicko took over the watch, Mike stretched out under his blanket near Doree. He dozed off and was then awakened by a pressure against his back. Doree, snuggling close. "It's cold," she murmured, and drifted to sleep with a contented sigh. It was a calm, restful slumber.
The sharp bark of Nicko's rifle awakened Mike after what seemed to him only a few moments of sleep. He sprang up to find dawn breaking and Nicko sending another shot into the undergrowth.
Mike grabbed his own rifle and ran to the Martian's side. "What's wrong?"
Nicko lowered his weapon. "I saw four platoons of infantry charging out of the brush—I think."
"In other words you think maybe you saw something. You don't know what it was. It could have been nothing at all."
"All right. Have it your way," Nicko said serenely.
"Come on. Let's get going. We'll eat something on the raft."
But they never reached the raft. Mike's words had hardly been spoken when the forest erupted with a mass of savagery. Several hundred tall, screaming black men clad sketchily in brilliantly colored feathers and paint.