There was a sudden movement at the back of the reed-patch, quite fifty
yards from Holden. A thing which did look like a man fled madly for the
nearest edge of woodland. It was the size of a man. It had the
pinkish-tan color of naked human flesh. It ran with its head down, and
it could not be seen too clearly, but it was startlingly manlike in
outline. Up in the control-room Bell fairly yipped with excitement and
swung his camera. Holden remained oblivious. He still tried to lure
something out of concealment. A second creature raced for the woods.
Tiny gray threads appeared in the air between the airlock and the racing
thing. Smoke. Johnny Simms was shooting zestfully at the unidentified
animal. He was using that tracer ammunition which poor shots and worse
sportsmen adopt to make up for bad marksmanship.
The threads of smoke seemed to form a net about the running things. They
dodged and zig-zagged frantically. Both of them reached safety.
A third tried it. And now Johnny Simms turned on automatic fire. Bullets
spurted from his weapon, trailing threads of smoke so that the trails
looked like a stream from a hose.
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