Kirk supposed they might as well. He climbed down, streaming blood from
his torn wrist, with the girl scrambling beside him. The hackles were
raised across her yellow shoulders.
Piruts. Kirk thought about Pa and Russ and Frank being driven up that
tongue of naked rock. Their own people had killed them, but the Piruts
put them there in the first place. And there was Jakk. Besides....
They were Piruts. That was enough. Kirk felt numb inside. It might have
been easier if the shags had got them, after all.
The man who had called them was waiting, lounging back against a rock.
He was no taller than Kirk, but he was a lot thicker and his hair was
red. The bones of his face were heavy and brutal under his beard. His
horny overlids were dropped so that only bright black slits showed of
his eyes. He was smiling. It was a lazy, white-toothed, cheerful smile,
but Kirk didn't like. It made his belly knot up.
"What," said the Pirut, "the hell are you two kids doing out here?"
"Hunting," said Kirk shortly. There were a lot of Piruts among the
tumbled rocks. Four, five hands of them.
The red Pirut had stopped looking at Kirk. He was looking at the
Captain's yellow daughter. "Well," he said. "Well, well!" He took
himself away from the rock and came toward them. He moved slowly, as
though he might be sleepy. Kirk didn't like that, either.