THE RUSTLE OF CLOTH, the furtive creak of leather, the clink of metal equipment. Heavy breathing. Somebody whispered,
"Who the hell's that back there?"
"Must be men from the Project. We'd better hurry."
"We've got to find that damned Gray first," snapped the first voice grimly. "Caron'll burn us if we don't."
Gray counted six separate footsteps, trying to allow for the echoes. When he was sure the last man was by, he stepped out. The noise of Dio's hunt was growing—there must be a good many of them.
Covered by their own echoes, he stole up on the men ahead. His groping hand brushed gently against the clothing of the last man in the group. Gauging his distance swiftly, he went into action.
One hand fastened over the fellow's mouth. The other, holding a good-sized rock, struck down beh
