people."

Gallifa frowned. He didn't understand.

"You know," Samuels grinned. "Gnomes or elves with big ears. Large dwarf model."

Gallifa turned his attention back to the visitors and laughed. "I see what you mean," he agreed. "Ears and all. They do seem harmless. But it's strange they aren't upset by us. They could be semi-intelligent."

Gallifa stepped gingerly from the truck. He really didn't expect to find a modicum of intelligence. The spotting cruiser had orbited around the planet for more than seventy-two hours before the crew had been deposited, and had almost definitely established the contrary.

On every Earth-type planet that had ever been discovered, if there were intelligent life it had developed according to water-oxygen evolution; and the culture invariably parallelled homo sapiens. It was as if a busy and preoccupied nature had hit upon a pattern which worked and never bothered to change the mold. There were minor deviations, of course, biologically and structurally, but never culture-wise.

The swift, but amazingly discerning survey, had revealed absolutely no evidence of any intelligence on the planet. There were no artifacts, dwellings, roads, dams, bridges—primitive or otherwise. Any stage of culture would have been observed by the cruiser immediately. The planet seemed ideally suited to colonization.

Gallifa, the trained biologist, carefully studied the creatures. The dwarf-like gnomes, as Samuels had dubbed them, might be considered caricatures of humanity.

They were about four feet high—bipeds, and covered with a soft, pinkish fur. They walked erect; normally so, Gallifa could tell, because their upper limbs were too short for knuckling and were not jointed correctly for moving on all fours. They had five digited limbs, both upper and lower, just as did all higher life forms ever discovered on any planet. Their features were without hair and of a fairy story-humanoid type. With their large, floppy ears, and round-solemn eyes they were very unusual gnomes indeed.

Gallifa spoke to them quietly, trying a few standard low-order communication and classification tricks. The visitors—somehow he couldn't think of them as base animals—made no response. They didn't quite seem to fit any classification niche. The creatures faintly puzzled Gallifa. The best he could do was: Low order intelligence and probably harmless. Cultural development, nil.

As if to prove his rationalizations, the creatures suddenly seemed to ignore the humans. They walked unconcernedly past the truck and attacked the vegetation on the edge of the clearing. Every so often one would overturn a small rock and grub for the exposed insects.

Gallifa observed their broad, dull teeth. They weren't, he decided, omnivorous.

Samuels interrupted his train of thought. "Do you think they will give us any trouble?" he asked.

"No," Gallifa affirmed slowly. "Not materially, anyway. But it's going to be interesting, and a little difficult, to study this species. They don't seem to be ecologically feasible. Look at them. They are small and weak. They don't have claws, not even sheathed—and they are definitely too low in the evolutionary scale to know anything of weapons. Their feet obviously aren't constructed for climbing, and their limbs are too short and aren't planned right for running."

He removed his hat and scratched his head. "In short," he finished, "they are an unprotected species, obviously unable to protect themselves."

"That's odd enough," Samuels agreed. "But maybe they don't need protection. Maybe they don't have any natural enemies."

"On a raw planet?" Gallifa retorted. "That's not very likely."

"Perhaps I can catch a few for the lab," Samuels suggested. "I'll work up a behavior pattern analysis."

"That shouldn't be too hard," Gallifa said. "They certainly aren't afraid of us. You do that," he added suddenly. "I'm going to pick up Mac and be on my way. Otherwise, we'll never get out of here."

"Good hunting," Samuels said. "I'll have a couple of these fat little specimens neatly catalogued for you when you get back."

Gallifa laughed and headed the truck across the compound.

III

Gallifa found MacFarland by the main-gate shack. He helped him secure a manual excavating kit to the side of the truck, and then headed for a hogback MacFarland had spotted from the early air photos.

Gallifa jolted the truck up a rutted mound and braked close to a grove of trees. They had covered roughly ten miles. Gallifa was still uneasy about Bradshaw, but he had maintained an exceptionally sharp lookout and had seen nothing which might be termed dangerous to a wary colonist. If anything had harmed Bradshaw, the ground must have swallowed it.

MacFarland shouldered his pack and stalked toward an outcropping rock formation. Gallifa planned to work close to the truck in order to keep in touch with the other crews who were on less personalized missions of mass survey with highly sensitive instruments. That was the way, of course, that most of the work would have to be done.

A short time later MacFarland reappeared, red-faced and panting, and with a bulging pack. Gallifa had activated the scanning scope and was casually inspecting the terrain.

"Finding anything of interest?" MacFarland grunted, after he had caught his breath.

"Nothing except a couple of those little creatures like the ones we saw back in camp," Gallifa answered. At MacFarland's frown he remembered, and filled in the details.

"Want to take a look?" he asked.

MacFarland shrugged out of the pack and clambered into the truck. He expertly advanced the power of the scope and swung it in slow arcs.

"I'll help with the pack," Gallifa volunteered.

"Wait a minute!" MacFarland called excitedly. "Take a look at this."

Gallifa frowned and glanced into the view screen. His jaw fell. He leaned forward and swallowed hard. "That's an ugly looking beast," he affirmed, with a grimace.

"I thought the spotting cruiser said there weren't any dangerous animals in the zone where we were supposed to land," MacFarland said caustically. "I think we had better revise the theory—unless you want me to believe the teeth on that thing are used for shredding lettuce."

"No," Gallifa said. "It's a meat eater, all right. Either the cruiser made a mistake, or—and this is more likely—the beast has wandered in from a more natural habitat. You know, I believe it's after one of the gnomes."

MacFarland left the screen and swung the automatic rifle to bear on the beast. He carefully adjusted the telescopic sights, centering the hair lines on the target. There was a quiet whir and a slight shifting of the rifle as the computer device allowed for correct elevation and windage.

"I have the critter dead center," MacFarland said eagerly.

"Don't shoot," Gallifa suddenly warned. "There is something awfully peculiar about this. I'm positive our friend sees that fellow, but he doesn't seem the least bit worried. Keep the rifle trained, but let's watch a little longer. I'm interested in this."

The gnome did seem aware that he was being stalked. Every so often he stopped to peer over his shoulder where his adversary was in plain view. Then he calmly went on feeding. He made no effort to flee or find concealment.

Gallifa watched in puzzlement. Was the creature really so stupid? It wasn't logical. It just didn't make sense. How had the race survived?

The pursuer tentatively crawled a few feet and stopped, its eyes gleaming. It crawled a few more. It seemed to be appraising the distance to be traversed. All at once it gathered its powerful legs snugly under it. A quick rush and a spring ...

The gnome suddenly stopped feeding and curled into a tight ball. The charging beast seemed to be trying to change its course in mid-leap. It landed almost on top of its prey, but it didn't strike. Instead, it whirled, biting its shoulder and