For the first time, he admitted to himself: He would stay here and die. Shotwell, back at the farm, in a day or two might set out hunting for him. But Shotwell would never find him. And anyhow, by nightfall, if not sooner, the screamers would be back. He laughed gruffly in his throat--laughing at himself. The Cytha had won the hunt hands down. It had used a human weakness to win and then had used that same human weakness to achieve a viciously poetic vengeance. After all, what could one expect? One could not equate human ethics with the ethics of the Cytha. Might not human ethics, in certain cases, seem as weird and illogical, as infamous and ungrateful, to an alien? He hunted for a twig and began working again to clean the rifle bore. A crashing behind him twisted him around and he saw the Cytha. Behind the Cytha stalked a donovan. He tossed away the twig and raised the gun. "No," said the Cytha sharply. The donovan tramped purposefully forward and Duncan felt the prickling of the skin along his back. It was a frightful thing. Nothing could stand before a donovan. The screamers had turned tail and run when they had heard it a couple of miles or more away. The donovan was named for the first known human to be killed by one. That first was only one of many. The roll of donovan-victims ran long, and no wonder, Duncan thought. It was the closest he had ever been to one of the beasts and he felt a coldness creeping over him. It was like an elephant and a tiger and a grizzly bear wrapped in the selfsame hide. It was the most vicious fighting machine that ever had been spawned. He lowered the rifle. There would be no point in shooting. In two quick strides, the beast could be upon him. The donovan almost stepped on him and he flinched away. Then the great head lowered and gave the fallen tree a butt and the tree bounced for a yard or two. The donovan kept on walking. Its powerfully muscled stern moved into the brush and out of sight. "Now we are even," said the Cytha. "I had to get some help." Duncan grunted. He flexed the leg that had been trapped and he could not feel the foot. Using his rifle as a cane, he pulled himself erect. He tried putting weight on the injured foot and it screamed with pain. He braced himself with the rifle and rotated so that he faced the Cytha. "Thanks, pal," he said. "I didn't think you'd do it." "You will not hunt me now?" Duncan shook his head. "I'm in no shape for hunting. I am heading home." "It was the _vua_, wasn't it? That was why you hunted me?" "The _vua_ is my livelihood," said Duncan. "I cannot let you eat it." The Cytha stood silently and Duncan watched it for a moment. Then he wheeled. Using the rifle for a crutch, he started hobbling away. The Cytha hurried to catch up with him. "Let us make a bargain, mister. I will not eat the _vua_ and you will not hunt me. Is that fair enough?" "That is fine with me," said Duncan. "Let us shake on it."