I stormed out of the house. I spun the jeep out of the yard and ripped off through the woods. The chief was sitting at home as comfortable as you please. He was leaning back against the great oak that hid his tree house. He had a little fire going and one of the women was roasting a sparrow for him. He greeted me in volpla language. "Do you realize," I blurted angrily, "that there are two volplas in my daughter's bedroom?" "Why, yes," he answered calmly. "They go there every day. Is there anything wrong with that?" "She's teaching them the words of men." "You told us some men may be our enemies. We are anxious to know their words, the better to protect ourselves." He reached around behind the tree and, right there in broad daylight, that volpla pulled a copy of the San Francisco _Chronicle_ out of hiding. He held it up apologetically. "We have been taking it for some time from the box in front of your house." He spread the paper on the ground between us. I saw by the date that it was yesterday's. He said proudly, "From the two who go to your house, I have learned the words of men. As men say, I can 'read' most of this." * * * * * I just stood there gaping at him. How could I possibly recoup this situation so that the stunning joke of the volplas wouldn't be lost? Would it seem reasonable that the volplas, by observing and listening to men, had learned their language? Or had they been taught it by a human friend? That was it--I would just have to sacrifice anonymity. My family and I had found a colony of them on our ranch and taught them English. I was stuck with it because it was the truth. The volpla waved his long thin arm over the front page. "Men are dangerous. They will shoot us with their guns if we leave here." I hastened to reassure him. "It will not be like that. When men have learned about you, they will leave you alone." I stated this emphatically, but for the first time I was beginning to see this might not be a joke to the volplas. Nevertheless, I went on. "You must disperse the families at once. You stay here with your family so we remain in contact, but send the other families to other places." He shook his head. "We cannot leave these woods. Men would shoot us." Then he stood and looked squarely at me with his nocturnal eyes. "Perhaps you are not a good friend. Perhaps you have lied to us. Why are you saying we should leave this safety?" "You will be happier. There will be more game." He continued to stare directly at me. "There will be men. One has already shot one of us. We have forgiven him and are friends. But one of us is dead." "You are friends with _another_ man?" I asked, stunned. He nodded and pointed up the valley. "He is up there today with another family." "Let's go!"