"But not this far," Saxton demurred. "They'd still have some traces of their original culture left." "A one-ship colony would have very limited mechanical resources," Wallace said. "And they'd be isolated here. As soon as the tools and machines they brought with them wore out they'd be almost impossible to replace. The odds are they'd slip back fast." "I don't know." Clearly Saxton wasn't satisfied--but he let the subject hang. "When we saw him kneeling on the ground, I thought that he was worshipping us. But since then he's been acting as if he thought he was the god instead of us." They were halfway across a small clearing now and before Wallace could answer the native ahead stopped abruptly. He stood motionless, with his head tilted to one side, as though listening. After a moment he motioned them to move to the left. As Wallace and Saxton obeyed, Al-fin pointed urgently toward their guns. They drew, and the native turned to stare at the bushes at the far side of the clearing. "What does he want?" Saxton asked. "I don't--" Wallace's answer was cut off as a huge "cat," with long stilt-like legs spread wide, sprang out of the bushes--directly at them. Wallace and Saxton sprayed the beams of their guns across the cat's chest, burning a wide, smoking gash. The beast landed, sprang again, and died. Saxton let out a long breath of relief. "Close," he said. Wallace stood with a puzzled frown on his face. "How did he know the animal was there?" he asked. "He must have a good sense of hearing," Saxton answered doubtfully. "It can't be that good," Wallace protested. "Maybe this is our chance to get some fresh meat," Saxton said. He drew a knife from his belt and knelt beside the cat's carcass. He made several rapid cuts. After a minute he looked up. "Nothing edible," he said. "Nothing but skin, gristle, and tendons." They walked on. * * * * * They entered another clearing, and found themselves in the midst of a group of naked savages, obviously Al-fin's people. "Where did they come from?" Saxton asked, resting his hand on the grip of his gun. Wallace looked his way and shook his head. "No guns," he said. "We'll have to take the chance that they're friendly." Most of the members of the group, Wallace observed, were lying on the ground, or idling about at the edges of the small clearing. He counted twenty-three--of both sexes, and varying ages. There was no sign of clothing or ornament on any of them. They were naked, filthy, and nondescript; yet each had the mark of that quality that had puzzled them in Al-fin--the deep inner assurance. A few glanced their way, but without any evidence of an unusual degree of interest. Their attention returned to Al-fin. Streaks of sweat had made gray trails on his grimy face, and he gave off an odor that was sharp and rancid. He sat on the ground and motioned for Wallace and Saxton to do the same.