The ray bit ever deeper in the hard stone, gouging out a narrow tunnel through which Gene could worm his way into the adjoining cave--that of Mree-na, the patriarch, from whom Gene had learned the language of the Wronged Ones. Mree-na would not be home. Being too old to hunt, he spent his days in going among the people to hear their woes and offer his counsel in inter-family disputes. Thus Gene worked without fear of detection. The hours sped by, and still he labored--determined to win through by nightfall. If he had judged right, he would emerge in the far reaches of Mree-na's abode, where the shadows were heavy and where the feeble old man never ventured. The wall was not as thick as he had expected. The call of the returning hunters was in his ears as the last foot of matter gave before the hissing ray and crashed to the floor of Mree-na's cave, mid a thunder of echoes. Gene stuck his head through the opening, glanced about, then withdrew. The way was clear. When the tribe met tonight in the Cave of Talkers, Gene Drummond would be the uninvited guest. Brushing the telltale dust from his clothes he walked casually from the cavern and started down the long, sloping trail leading to the valley below. His guards hurried up and one grasped him gently by the shoulder. "There you cannot go," he said firmly. "Old One knows all. You would go yonder where the sleeping sky-beast lies and flee this world, but Old One and his people would not have it so ... ever," he added significantly. * * * * * "Damn it!" Gene exploded. "I'm starving for a good meal. I've got plenty of canned food in my ship; give me a couple of warriors to carry it here and I'll spread out a feast for your tribe that will make the slop you eat taste like--like slop!" The two men did not cringe before his wrath, but stood their ground; their sad eyes growing even sadder. For a long moment there was silence; then the one who rested his hand on Gene's shoulder spoke. "Man of the third planet, you have come among a saddened people; a people to whom a great--nay, the _greatest_--injustice was done in the dim, yet vivid, past. My tongue is pledged to speak not of this, but know you it is not by our will we are here. Know you, also, this slop you cry out against should call to you as like calls to like, for long did you wallow in it!" Gene said nothing, but turned and stumbled away. He realized now that these barbarians meant to keep him here for as long as he should live. They wanted him to know some of their misery, their sorrow; to know the hopelessness they knew, and the futility of struggling with an environment that gave not before the onslaught of humanity. Why? He was feeling like the lowest heel in the world by the time night fell. But he soon snapped out of it when he heard the tramp of many feet outside as the tribes-people passed on their way to the Cave of Talkers.