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his head, seemed to locate Jim for the first time. He cradled Willis in one arm; his other two arms came snaking suddenly down and enclosed Jim, one palm flap cradling him where he sat down, the other slapping him across the belly.
    He felt himself lifted and held and then he was staring into a large liquid Martian eye which stared back at him. The Martian ‘man’ rocked his head back and forth and let each of his eyes have a good look.
    It was the closest Jim had ever been to a Martian; he did not care for it. Jim tried to wiggle away, but the fragile appearing Martian was stronger than he was.
    Suddenly the Martian's voice boomed out from the top of his head. Jim could not understand what was being said although he spotted the question symbol at the beginning of the phrase. But the Martian's voice had a strange effect on him. Croaking and uncouth though it was, it was filled with such warmth and sympathy and friendliness that the native no longer frightened him. Instead he seemed like an old and trusted friend.
    The Martian repeated the question.
    'What did he say, Frank?’
    'I didn't get it. He's friendly but I can't understand him.’
    The Martian spoke again; Frank listened. ‘He's inviting you to go with him, I think.’
    Jim hesitated a split second. ‘Tell him okay.’
    'Jim, are you crazy?’
    'It's all right. He means well. I'm sure of it.’
    'Well—all right.’ Frank croaked the phrase of assent.
    The native gathered up one leg and strode rapidly away toward the city. Frank trotted after. He tried his best to keep up, but the pace was too much for him. He paused, gasping, then shouted, ‘Wait for me,’ his voice muffled by his mask.
    Jim tried to phrase a demand to stop, gave up, then got an inspiration. ‘Say, Willis—Willis boy. Tell him to wait for Frank.’
    'Wait for Frank?’ Willis said doubtfully.
    'Yes. Wait for Frank.’
    'Okay.’ Willis hooted at his new friend; the Martian paused and dropped his third leg. Frank came puffing up.
    The Martian removed one arm from Jim and scooped up Frank with it. ‘Hey!’ Frank protested. ‘Cut it out.’
    'Take it easy,’ advised Jim.
    'But I don't want to be carried.’
    Frank's reply was disturbed by the Martian starting up again. Thus burdened, he shifted to a three-legged gait in which at least two legs were always on the ground. It was bumpy but surprisingly fast.
    'Where do you suppose he is taking us?’ asked Jim.
    'To the city I guess.’ Frank added, ‘We don't want to miss the scooter.’
    'We've got hours yet. Quit worrying.’
    The Martian said nothing more but continued slogging toward Cynia. Willis was evidently as happy as a bee in a flower shop. Jim settled down to enjoying the ride. Now that he was being carried with his head a good ten feet above ground his view was much improved; he could see over the tops of the plants growing by the canal and beyond them to the iridescent towers of Cynia. The towers were not like those of Charax; no two Martian cities looked alike. It was as if each were a unique work of art, each expressing the thoughts of a different artist.
    Jim wondered why the towers had been built, what they were good for, how old they were.
    The canal crops spread out around them, a dark green sea in which the Martian waded waist deep. The broad leaves were spread flat to the sun's rays, reaching greedily for life-giving radiant energy. They curled aside as the native's body brushed them, to spread again as he passed.
    The towers grew much closer; suddenly the Martian stopped and set the two boys down. He continued to carry Willis. Ahead of them, almost concealed by overhanging greenery, a ramp slanted down into the ground and entered a tunnel arch. Jim looked at it and said, ‘Frank, what do you think?’
    'Gee, I don't know.’ The boys had been inside the cities of Charax and Copais, but only in the abandoned parts and at ground level. They were not allowed time to fret over their decision; their guide started down the