A constabulary corporal was at the controls of the car Jack had rented from the hotel:  Gerd had taken his place in one of the two constabulary cars.  The third car shuttled between them, and all three talked back and forth by radio.

“Mr. Holloway.”  It was the trooper in the car Gerd had been piloting.  “Your partner’s down on the ground; he just called me with his portable.  He’s found a cracked prawn-shell.”

“Keep talking; give me direction,” the corporal at the controls said, lifting up.

In a moment, they sighted the other car, hovering over a narrow ravine on the left bank of the stream.  The third car was coming in from the north.  Gerd was still squatting on the ground when they let down beside him.  He looked up as they jumped out.

“This is it, Jack” he said.  “Regular Fuzzy job.”

So it was.  Whatever they had used, it hadn’t been anything sharp; the head was smashed instead of being cleanly severed.  The shell, however, had been broken from underneath in the standard manner, and all four mandibles had been broken off for picks.  They must have all eaten at the prawn, share alike.  It had been done quite recently.

They sent the car up, and while all three of them circled about, they went up the ravine on foot, calling:  “Little Fuzzy!  Little Fuzzy!” They found a footprint, and then another, where seepage water had moistened the ground.  Gerd was talking excitedly into the portable radio he carried slung on his chest.

“One of you, go ahead a quarter of a mile, and then circle back.  They’re in here somewhere.”

“I see them!  I see them!” a voice whooped out of the radio.  “They’re going up the slope on your right, among the rocks!”

“Keep them in sight; somebody come and pick us up, and we’ll get above them and head them off.”

The rental car dropped quickly, the corporal getting the door open.  He didn’t bother going off contragravity; as soon as they were in and had pulled the door shut behind them, he was lifting again.  For a moment, the hill swung giddily as the car turned, and then Jack saw them, climbing the steep slope among the rocks.  Only four of them, and one was helping another.  He wondered which ones they were, what had happened to the other two and if the one that needed help had been badly hurt.

The car landed on the top, among the rocks, settling at an awkward angle.  He, Gerd and the pilot piled out and started climbing and sliding down the declivity.  Then he found himself within reach of a Fuzzy and grabbed.  Two more dashed past him, up the steep hill.  The one he snatched at had something in his hand, and aimed a vicious blow at his face with it; he had barely time to block it with his forearm.  Then he was clutching the Fuzzy and disarming him; the weapon was a quarter-pound ballpeen hammer.  He put it in his hip pocket and then picked up the struggling Fuzzy with both hands.

“You hit Pappy Jack!” he said reproachfully.  “Don’t you know Pappy any more?  Poor scared little thing!”