When the floor of the valley came up he leveled off, then silently sped along in search of dwellings. Beneath him, on level stretches of land, stood odd four-legged creatures. The dominants of this world? he wondered. Probably not. The extremities of their limbs appeared to be too blunt and crude to do even the simple tooling he'd noticed during his flight in. Beasts of transport, no doubt. Boldly, he swooped low over a group, scattering them in panic. The meadow ended with almost sheer mountain wall, and the Scout whipped his craft up its face and down the opposite side. Something flickered in his vision screen and he swung the controls. A dwelling! In a moment he was back over it, hanging motionless. Sure enough, a revolting crude shack that nestled high in the branches of one of this world's surface growths. This was it. There was no time nor need to search further. He locked the controls, then turned on the deadly screen that would kill all life directly beneath, save one properly shielded such as himself, and would stun all life attempting to enter the edges of the field. Pulling on his helmet, the Scout reached to the stud at his belt and reduced his weight to but a fraction of itself. Then he opened the hatch and clambered out into the air. His first few minutes of exploration in the tree house were disappointing. There was no life, no corpses about for him to dissect and study. But the hunting club puzzled him. Obviously tooled by machinery and scuffed from much killing, it bore what might be a word burnt into its thickened end: "SPAULDING." He realized he was in an extremely primitive section of the planet, for this weapon was, no doubt, a trade article from some more advanced portion of the globe. Too bad he'd had to land in this region. Dull. The club he chucked into the bag over his shoulder. A round object, made of some fairly soft material, with seams twisting over its surface next caught his eye. He took it up, shook it. It, too, bore the symbol "SPAULDING." Probably a totem word. Perhaps the sign of this particular tribe. He put it with the club. It was followed by a small package of soft white cylinders which were stuffed with crumbles of dried weed. Each cylinder bore the sign "CAMEL" as did the container, which also showed a beast, somewhat like those he had buzzed. And beyond that there was nothing. A simple people indeed, he pondered. He was about to leave when he noticed the stack of artifacts in one corner. The Scout bent to examine them. They seemed to be composed of the same material as the white of the "CAMEL" cylinders, but thicker and bound together in long wide flat construction. There were bright colors on the outside of each, and just as he discovered that the individual leaves of material could be separated and turned, the alarm bell sounded twice in his helmet. Life had blundered into the outer edges of his field.