Diane shook her head. "But not completely cold. Several hours old. Probably made this morning. Probably there's someone nearby." "So what?" "So if he's alone he's probably a Shining One and...." "We have enough people in our camp now." "You always think competitively, Harry. One more man won't hurt your position in our tribe." "Well, if he's young and if he ... well, if you...." "I'm not promised to you or anyone, and don't forget that. Besides, it doesn't have a thing to do with this." Diane peered expertly at the ground and soon picked up the stranger's spoor where he had come out of the stream himself--probably after bathing--and started out on his day's journey. "Come on," she said and Starbuck could either forgo her company or follow her. He followed. The spoor became erratic. It wandered in circles, doubled back on itself, seemed either headed for no goal or incapable of reaching one. "He must have been hurt somehow," Diane mused. "He can't be very far." "What are you so curious about?" "Curious? I don't know. I'm just interested. I--Hello! Up there." Diane sprinted up a short rise, leaving a surprised Starbuck pounding along several paces behind her. She found the man lying, face down near a large oak tree. Although it was comparatively cool, his body was drenched with perspiration. Diane shook her head sadly at the swollen joints and purple discolorations. "They say it's a terrible thing," she told Starbuck as he panted up. "I don't remember; I was a baby." Starbuck shuddered. "I remember. Watch out, don't go near him." "What's the matter with you? We're immune." Starbuck nodded morosely. "Yes. Immune. But he'll die anyway, so why don't we...." "Why don't we take him back with us, that's what. Don't kid me, Harry Starbuck. You're acting sympathetic only because you think I'll like that. Well, I happen to feel sorry for this man. I think we'll feel better if we help him." "Help him? He's as good as dead." "Are you dead? You had the Plague. Am I?" "No, but maybe one out of a hundred live. That isn't much of a chance for him." "It's a chance, though. Here, carry him." "What? Who, me? Now listen, Diane...." Maybe a moon-struck Starbuck had his advantages. "Suit yourself, but don't expect me to speak to you again, ever." Starbuck considered this, then mumbled something under his breath which Diane could not hear. "All right," he said finally. "But I'm telling you it's a waste of time." "I'll be the judge of that." * * * * * Still grumbling, Starbuck picked the man up by one arm and one leg, staggered until he balanced his burden across one shoulder, then started back down toward the stream. "That's right," said Diane. "We could reach camp in a few hours if we hurry." "He'll never live through the day," said Starbuck. "I only had the Plague a few years ago. I lived in the villages, so I know. He'll never live through the day." "Just keep walking. If he dies, we can bury him."