they moved a few feet down-stream and stood looking at the frothing cataract that dropped the great river a sheer two-hundred feet to boulders below.

"I ought to be whipped for not attending to business," Mike said bitterly.

Doree was clinging to his arm looking down at the awe-inspiring sight. "You saved us, darling. Why should you criticize yourself?"

"It was too close—far too close."

Nicko said, "It seems to me the important thing now is where we go from here."

"We carry the raft down those rocks and beyond the rough water."

"But why all that effort? Couldn't we be as happy up here as down there?"

"All rivers lead to civilization," Mike said. "Or at least, they lead to the places civilization naturally springs up."

"A logical observation."

"Also, I've got a hunch about this river. I may be wrong but I think it might take us right where we want to go. I'll bet there are interesting things ahead."

Mike turned and directed his words to Doree. "That papyrus your father translated said the forefathers of the Egyptians sought a planet similar to their own. Perhaps the similarity had to be more than general. Such a thing is indicated by their traveling around for several lifetimes. Anyhow, except for the tropical climate, this river bears a great resemblance to one of the tributaries that feeds the Nile back on Terra."

"You're quite right," Doree marveled.

"And this could well be Victoria Falls. I wonder if another Egypt doesn't lie below."

There was awe in Doree's voice. "Before Egypt—"

"What did you say?"

"An Egypt—a great civilization that flourished on this planet before Egypt—before the Terran Egypt was even dreamed of."

Mike smiled fleetingly. "That's what you and your father have believed, isn't it? So why be surprised?"

"It's just that—well, being so close to it—realizing it might really exist—"

Mike laughed. "I understand. But we're still a long way from it." He turned to the Martian. "Come on, Nicko, let's get busy with this stuff."

The portage was laborious and dangerous. It took the balance of that day. Even when the sun set they had still not reached the termination of white water.

They found an open area beside the racing river that would have been covered during high water and Mike decided it would be a good place to camp. While Mike broke out the supplies, and Doree prepared the meal, Nicko stood on the alert with a rifle over his arm scanning the line of undergrowth at the edge of the forest.

After all three had eaten, Mike directed Nicko to bed down in order to be ready for the second watch. He urged Doree to sleep also, but she insisted on sitting with him during his watch. And though her head drooped several times, she remained with him and refused to sleep.

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.

Both rifles barked. Nicko's shot was high, but Mike brought the foremost of the black warriors skidding forward on his face.

Maybe that will stop them, Mike thought desperately. Maybe they've never seen firearms before. He held up his second shot for the briefest moment hoping the savages would be awed into retreat.

But this was not the case. They charged forward in renewed fury and Mike again went to work. He dropped three more of the charging maniacs while Nicko, probably the poorest shot who ever lifted a rifle, accounted for one unfortunate warrior with a twenty-shot spray of atomic pellets.

The black men, who had had only a scant fifty yards to cover, were now upon the three. Two of them seized Doree, an act which turned Mike into a terrible fighting machine.

Not able to fire the gun effectively at such close range, he reversed it and created bloody havoc, using the butt as a club. Two skulls cracked sharply under its impact and as he fought, Mike saw Nicko go down. He couldn't reach him.

Several warriors raised the iron-toothed clubs they carried and crashed them down upon Nicko's unprotected body.

The result would have been comic under less grim circumstances. The clubs of the warriors caused Nicko's almost indestructible hide to ring like a great bell. The handle of one warrior's lethal bludgeon snapped and the attacker stared at it in amazement. The rest beat down again upon the prone Nicko, their clubs bouncing off and resounding in a sort of anvil chorus.

The attention of the warriors bent upon annihilating Mike was diverted by the intriguing spectacle of this strange four-armed creature refusing to be clubbed to death. So Mike was able to get in some telling blows that felled three more of the terrible warriors.

He knew however, that the end was already written in the bloody sands around him. He could only fight to the last moment, bringing down as many of the enemy as possible.

His heart was sick at what would surely be Doree's fate. He saw her just beyond the perimeter of battle still held by her two captors who were viewing the fight with rapt interest. If he could only reach her. One swing of his gun butt and she would serve no vile purpose in the hands of these raiders.