"I can go with you to Hardpan City," Dun Horgan said slowly. "That's where I trade off my furs and gold dust. We can thump a ride on one of the waggons going to New Yok." "What are we waiting for then?" demanded Ayna. "Bring extra slugs for your six guns." She looked at Orth. "Don't you have a gun?" Orth tugged out his compact machine pistol. Apparently the clumsy spring-powered weapons with six barrels were what the girl called six guns, for Horgan belted a second weapon around his waist. The girl examined his hand gun with curious eyes and fingers. "Unusual design," she commented. "Not authentic for your period costume." "Come along," said Horgan, cutting across Orth's protesting words. "About time for the afternoon waggon train." * * * * * "Here they come!" cried Horgan as they quitted the path for the rutted highway. He seized a long length of pole and started beating at the road with it. Dust clouded up about them. And further down the road a growing cloud of dust neared. These must be the waggons Horgan was going to hail, Orth decided. "Why is he pounding the ground, Ayna?" demanded Orth. The woman laughed. "He is thumping for a ride," she explained. "It is a peculiar custom of this age. In this way he asks assistance." Orth's dark face reddened with sudden mirth that he choked back. The twisted idiomatic expressions of this strange world were taking a familiar pattern. Even the scrambled pattern of wars and their military leaders began to make sense. _Thumping_ a ride, six shooters, and scalp _lockets_ linked up with Ayna's reference to Ancient American Mythology. "You're from the little globes clustering around the sun," he said, "and you were visiting Earth--or this primitive duplication of it. Sort of a park for your people, this. Your spacer crashed or you've lost it." Ayna frowned at Orth. "Yes," she said slowly, "I landed on Earth, contrary to the regulations, and a herd of mammoths wrecked my ship. But how could you, a creature of Ivath's great workship, know anything of spacers?" "I do not know Ivath," Orth said angrily, "and I came here in a spacer that has vanished.... Now, how do we get out of this make believe world of yours to your home?" "But this is real," the girl protested. "If a redskin's arrow or a tearunner's slug cuts you down you will die. Until the war is ended, or you take me to Ivath's headquarters, we are not safe." "All I can say is human beings are as crazy as they were three million years ago," grunted Orth. Meanwhile the dust cloud rolled closer and slowed. Horgan's thumping had halted them. Orth saw three great waggons, their twenty foot-high metal-tired wheels fitting deep down into the rutted way.