"They certainly ought to. I even made a sketch of a native destroying a hell-cat with my new gun." After a few minutes of attentive study by the three natives, the series was finished. The language expert reached over and depressed a different stud without hesitation. "There it is. A nice little blast-rifle, practically new!" The screen showed the front of a box falling open under the sequence machine. The three Azurans raised their heads and stared. Then they looked up at the sky, and back at the box. Their conversation was excited, not at all hushed. Finally the leader sent the third native around in a flanking move, equipped with the crossbow. When the new position had been taken up, the three studied the situation and seemed to discuss its various aspects. Suddenly, while the flanker held a bead on the machine, the one who had been in the lead stood up and advanced warily toward the proffered gun. He studied it at close range, after looking over the scene carefully. Abruptly he laid down his spear and seized the blast-rifle. He remained crouching, obviously waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he straightened up and began to examine the weapon. He turned to the last picture, still showing on the machine, and carefully conformed his tentacles around the gunstock as indicated. Then he looked about, as if seeking a target. A large, brilliant blue tree about twenty meters away seemed to be his choice. He spent a moment getting the sights lined up and then pulled the trigger. * * * * * The entire lower half of the tree disappeared in a tremendous explosion of steam and splinters. The upper part of it came smashing down, as did great sections of others directly behind the target. The stunned native staggered to his feet, still clutching the gun, and cooed at it lovingly. His two companions came running up, whistling and gabbling with excitement. They were allowed to take the gun up on the hill and try it out--at more distant targets. Several trees and a good-sized rock disappeared with a noisy violence that was obviously satisfactory. The leader remained with the picture machine and began to examine it. He jumped, startled, when Stuart flipped one more sketch into view. It showed the little scout ship about to land. After the native had studied it a while, Stuart gave him the last one. This was a sketch of the linguist himself, stepping out of the scout ship and greeting a waiting Azuran. The reaction to this was immediate and positive. Shrill commands sent the smaller native into ambush in the shrubbery; the other came running down the hill, handed over the gun, and fled to the cave. The leader, still watching the sky, squatted down to wait, rifle beside him. After a moment he took something out of his knapsack and apparently began to munch on it. Twice he snatched up the gun and sighted through it, as though practising.