The native's reaction was sudden, unexpected. He shuddered and slumped to the ground, a picture of dejection. His tentacles were limp. Nothing would induce him to communicate. At length Stuart offered water; the native suddenly arose, as if in a hopeless rage, knocked the canteen aside, and kicked the linguist's injured leg. Then the red being sank to the ground again. "Damn!" growled Stuart through clenched teeth. He rubbed his leg. "I suppose he thinks we're the Invaders, coming back to ravage his people again. Either he never saw the Invaders himself, or we happen to resemble them. Or maybe the terror of the invasion was so great that a serious semantic confusion exists, labelling all strangers as Bad. Well, at any rate, I'll have to go through some semantic analysis to establish any rapport at all." Meditating on the problem, he sent Nestor back to the ship for drawing materials, and bent over to retrieve the canteen. The native immediately knocked him flat and fled into the woods. Rogers started after the Azuran, unslinging his gun, but Gordon spoke up from the airlock, where he had been about to climb down to the ground. "Dan! Get out of those woods, you half-wit! Let him go; you can't possibly catch him. Anyway, we may be able to see where he goes, if he breaks out into open country again. White, will you keep an eye on the edge of the woods from up there? Be ready to man the 'scope. I'll be right up." Nestor sat down beside the linguist a few minutes later and held out a cup of fragrant coffee. "Here, Mr. Stuart. I figured you guys could use breakfast better than drawing materials right now. Feel okay?" Stuart sipped and nodded gratefully. "Mmm. Yes, fine, thanks." The plump little flight engineer handed him a sandwich. "You're due for relief about now anyway. The boss and I will be out here, and White and Brettner inside. You and Rogers can sleep a while." The linguist leaned back against a tree and lit a cigarette. "Has the native showed up again?" he asked his microphone. White answered. "Yeah. He high-tailed it across the prairie and disappeared among the coral rocks. Chief says for you to come in, Stuart; he wants to know what you found out." * * * * * Stuart picked up his rifle, canteen, camera, and cup. He wondered vaguely, as he trudged wearily over to the ship, how he had gotten so tired. Then he realized that, like the others, he had gotten only five hours' sleep in the past two nights. Procyon was yellow-white and hot on his back, even through the netting, as he clambered up the fin rungs. He felt sleepy. In the captain's crowded little cabin he dropped into a chair and yawned. Gordon stretched, scratching lazily, and grinned at him. "Bored, on your first day ashore?"