from! And the only way to do that is to get the animals to come back!"
"Come back? How?"
"They're waiting, just outside the aura of our thoughts, and if we believe in them again, they'll return."
Marnagan didn't like it. "Won't--won't they kill us--if they come--if we believe in 'em?"
Hathaway shook a head that was tons heavy and weary. "Not if we believe in them to a certain point. Psychologically they can both be seen and felt. We only want to see them coming at us again."
"Do we, now?"
"With twenty minutes left, maybe less--"
"All right, Click, let's bring 'em back. How do we do it?"
Hathaway fought against the mist in his eyes. "Just think--I will see the monsters again. I will see them again and I will not feel them. Think it over and over."
Marnagan's hulk stirred uneasily. "And--what if I forget to remember all that? What if I get excited...?"
Hathaway didn't answer. But his eyes told the story by just looking at Irish.
Marnagan cursed. "All right, lad. Let's have at it!"
The monsters returned.

A soundless deluge of them, pouring over the rubbled horizon, swarming in malevolent anticipation about the two men.
"This way, Irish. They come from this way! There's a focal point, a sending station for these telepathic brutes. Come on!"
Hathaway sludged into the pressing tide of color, mouths, contorted faces, silvery fat bodies misting as he plowed through them.
Marnagan was making good progress ahead of Hathaway. But he stopped and raised his gun and made quick moves with it. "Click! This one here! It's real!" He fell back and something struck him down. His immense frame slammed against a rock, noiselessly.
Hathaway darted forward, flung his body over Marnagan's, covered the helmet glass with his hands, shouting:
"Marnagan! Get a grip, dammit! It's not real--don't let it force into your mind! It's not real, I tell you!"
"Click--" Marnagan's face was a bitter, tortured movement behind glass. "Click--" He was fighting hard. "I--I--sure now. Sure--" He smiled. "It--it's only a shanty fake!"
"Keep saying it, Irish. Keep it up."
Marnagan's thick lips opened. "It's only a fake," he said. And then, irritated, "Get the hell off me, Hathaway. Let me up to my feet!"
Hathaway got up, shakily. The air in his helmet smelled stale, and little bubbles danced in his eyes. "Irish, you forget the monsters. Let me handle them, I know how. They might fool you again, you might forget."
Marnagan showed his teeth. "Gah! Let a flea have all the fun? And besides, Click, I like to look at them. They're pretty."
The outpour of animals came from a low lying mound a mile farther on. Evidently the telepathic source lay there. They approached it warily.
"We'll be taking our chances on guard," hissed Irish. "I'll go ahead, draw 

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