In half an hour Cochrane was about to fire again.  But they heard the hysterical rat-tat-tat of firing.  It seemed no nearer, but it could only be Johnny Simms.

Cochrane and Holden fired together for assurance to Johnny.  Bell took pictures.

Again they marched toward where the shots had been fired.  Again they trudged on for a long time.  Seemingly, Johnny had moved away from them as they followed him.  They breasted a hill, and there was a breeze with the smell of water in it, and they saw that here the land sloped very gradually toward the sea, and the sea was in view.  It was infinitely blue and it reached toward the most alluring of horizons.  Between them and the sea there was only low-growing stuff, brownish and sparse.  There was sand underfoot—­a curious bluish sand.  Only here and there did the dry-seeming vegetation grow higher than their heads.

More shots.  Between them and the sea.  Cochrane and Holden fired again.

“What the devil’s the matter with the fool?” demanded Holden irritably.  “He knows we’re coming!  Why doesn’t he stand still or come to meet us?”

Cochrane shrugged.  That thought was disturbing him too.  They pressed forward, and suddenly Holden exclaimed.  “That looks like a man!  Two men!”

Cochrane caught the barest glimpse of something running about, far ahead.  It looked like naked human flesh.  It was the size of a man.  It vanished.  Another popped into view and darted madly out of sight.  They did not see the newcomers.

“He shot something like that, back where we first landed,” said Cochrane grimly.  “We’d better hurry!”

They did hurry.  There was a last flurry of shooting.  It was automatic fire.  It is not wise to shoot on automatic if one’s ammunition is limited, Johnny Simms’ firearm chattered furiously for part of a second.  It stopped short.  He couldn’t have fired so short a burst.  He was out of bullets.

They ran.

When they drew near him, a hooting set up.  Things scattered away.  Large things.  Birds the size of men.  They heard Johnny Simms screaming.

They came panting to the very beach, on which foam-tipped waves broke in absolutely normal grandeur.  The sand was commonplace save for a slight bluish tint.  Johnny Simms was out on the beach, in the open.  He was down.  He had flung his gun at something and was weaponless.  He lay on the sand, shrieking.  There were four ungainly, monstrous birds like oversized Cornish Game gamecocks pecking at him.  Two ran crazily away at sight of the humans.  Two others remained.  Then they fled.  One of them halted, darted back, and took a last peck at Johnny Simms before it fled again.

Holden fired, and missed.  Cochrane ran toward the kicking, shrieking Johnny Simms.  But Alicia got there first.