HE CLOSED the doors early, shutting out the unquestionable superiority of insect life, and the red-soaked sky at dusk that filtered away to blue scrub and forest and a runaway flattened to cold sleep. He spun the goniometer like a roulette wheel and it stopped at east, the opposite direction he wanted to take. No aircraft fenced the atomospherics with its morse, and he slouched in the basket- chair, bored and tired, tense at the thought of a dozen empty hours before daylight and relief. It wasn't possible any more to take an occasional potshot at shadows with the rifle, for together with fifty pounds of ammo it had been recalled to the armoury so that if bandits attacked the hut (still the farthest outpost of camp and airstrip) they couldn't capture the wherewithal to knock off a few planters or swaddies. They'll kill me, but as long as they don't get the rifle, that's all that matters. The old man would laugh if he knew I was in such a fix: What did I tell you then, eh? Don't join up, I said, didn't I? And what do you do?