George picked up the camera, brushed off the dirt with his large hairy fingers and squinted at it curiously. It was the third time that month that he had come across a human, the reaction never varying, and he was getting a little annoyed. Why do they run away screaming when they have the chance to take a picture of the very thing they were looking for?

There had been more and more people on the trail up the mountain since Harriet had stumbled onto the campers five months ago. That day, at least, one of the men had had the brains enough to snap a few shots before turning tail and speeding down the treacherous path. These pictures, probably, being the reason for the increased sightings.

George wondered how humans could invent such wonderful gadgets as this camera he was holding and then not have enough intelligence to find and communicate with his species. He would have walked straight into one of their towns and announced himself years ago if it weren't for the laws, the laws that were there to protect. To protect whom? George was beginning to think the laws protected the humans more than his kind. But he also knew it wouldn't be long before they started coming up the trail with their primitive weapons. Then it would be necessary for him and his family to move back into the depths of the mountain to stay out of sight until interest in them died down.

With a sigh George dropped the camera where he had found it and turned to go back home. Behind him he left footprints in the soft ground that would send a shiver of fear up more than one human spine.