"No sir. They'll trade. For our location. And if Whiting went off like that without even saying good-bye to his girl here, my guess is he'll make the trade." His voice reflected some bitterness. * * * * * Mary went to Gort and slapped his face. The elderly man did not even blink. "Well," he asked her gently, "did your pa tell you he was going?" "N-no," Mary said. There were tears in her eyes, but she did not cry. Gort turned to Steve. "Cantwell, can he get far in that 'copter?" Steve shook his head. "Ten or fifteen miles is all. Almost out of fuel, Mr. Gort. You saw how I took her up for only a quick mile swing each day. He won't get far." "He'll crash in the desert?" "Crash or crash-land," Steve said. Mary sobbed, and bit her lip, and was silent. "We've got to stop him," Gort said. "And fast. If he gets to the Kumaji, they'll send down a raiding party and we'll be finished. We could never fight them off without the protection of our village. Near as I can figure, there's a Kumaji base fifty miles due north of here. Whiting knows it too, so that's where he'll be going, I figure. Can't spare more than a couple of men to look for him, though, in case the Kumaji find us--or are led to us--and attack." Steve said, "I should have taken something out of the 'copter every night, so it couldn't start. I'll go." Mary came forward boldly. "I have to go. He's my father. If he crashed out there, he may be hurt. He may be--dying." Gort looked at her. "And if he's trying to sell us out to the Kumajis?" "Then--then I'll do whatever Steve asks me to. I promise." "That's good enough for me," Steve said. A few minutes later, armed with atorifles and their share of the food and water that was left, Steve and Mary set out northward across the sand while the caravan continued east. Fear of what they might find mounted. * * * * * The first night, they camped in the lee of low sandhills. The second night they found a small spring with brackish but drinkable water. On the third day, having covered half the distance to the Kumaji settlement, they began to encounter Kumaji patrols, on foot or _thlotback_, the six-legged desert animals running so swiftly over the sands and so low to the ground that they almost seemed to be gliding. Steve and Mary hardly spoke. Talk was unnecessary. But slowly a bond grew between them. Steve liked this slim silent girl who had come out here with him risking her life although she must have known deep in her heart that her father had almost certainly decided to turn traitor in order to regain his fortune. On the fourth day, they spotted the unicopter from a long way off and made their way toward it. It had come much further than Steve had expected. With sinking heart he realized that Tobias Whiting, if he escaped the crash-landing without injury, must surely have reached the Kumaji encampment by now. "It doesn't seem badly damaged," Mary said.