Verrill crumpled. He toppled, and sprawled. He was, however, conscious, and when he heard what the mountaineers were saying he realized that had he done it intentionally, he could not have done better than collapse. One said, "He's left his body for awhile to fight off the devils, so they won't come back to hurt the kid." Verrill muttered and mumbled until, satisfied that his act had been up to their expectation, he sat up. Again, he faced a pistol, but this time it was presented butt foremost. "Take it, doctor. It's yours," the kid's father said. And now Kwangtan, the fire priest, joined the group. His deep-set eyes blazed fiercely. His face was sunken. His hands were like parchment drawn over bones. He wore white pants and a white shirt. His beard and his shoulder-length hair were white. For a moment, Verrill thought that the old fellow was a veteran of The War. His age made him fantastic in a colony where men over forty were scarce, and those over fifty, rarities; though old women were more than plentiful. Verrill declined the gift of the pistol. "Give it to the holy man," he said. "I did not come here for pay." Then he went with Ardelan to sit under the black awning where the chief settled disputes, and planned raids on neighboring tribes. "Excellency," Verrill pointed out, "holding a pistol at a doctor's head is no way of making sure he'll help the patient." "You are a stranger. You might have killed him with a curse." "He was already nearly dead." "But he was still alive, and you might have finished him." "He must have known I'd do my best." "Still, if the boy had died, that clan would have lost a fighting man, so your clan had to lose. That is our law." "Is that why Kwangtan wouldn't help?" "Not at all. He's not a stranger. And if the women who were working on the boy had kept at it until he choked to death, no one would have hurt them. They're not strangers." "The quicker I get out of here, the better!" Ardelan permitted himself to smile. "Once you are no longer a stranger, doctoring will not be so dangerous." III As Ardelan's reserve thawed out, Verrill pressed him with questions. "Your men talk about nothing but raids on your neighbors' flocks, and about feuds. Haven't you enough sheep?" "Doctor, you know how to save lives, but you know nothing at all about living." Ardelan pointed toward the gateway, which opened from courtyard to the square. Half a dozen women, high-breasted and long-limbed, were gossiping at the well. Their wild gracefulness was blood-stirring. Verrill contrasted them with the studiedly elegant ladies of Venus, and with Linda particularly. "We have enough sheep, and enough women," the chief explained. "The sheep don't make trouble. The women do. If my men are not to cut each other's throats, they must have outside enemies to keep them busy. Or the jealousies of their wives would prod them to too much competition with each other."