A quarter of an hour passed before a rising hum announced the ending of
the feast. The component parts of the cloud took flight, coalesced into
a group, vanished into the distance.
Madsen broke first, heading for the remains of the antelope, with
Morley close behind. The animal lay in a heap, drained of every drop of
blood, its punctured eyes staring sightlessly at the empty heavens.
"Meat," babbled Madsen. "Chops, steak, liver, heart."
"Shut up," Morley said curtly, "and start a fire." He bent to the
butchering.
They ate, new life flooding into them. They were suddenly deeply
conscious of the incredible sensation of being fed, of resting with a
full stomach, of enjoying a reprieve that might be a pardon.
Madsen stopped picking his teeth for a moment.
"Did you know what those things were?" he asked.
"Sure. Sangres, Valdez called them. Means bloody in Spanish. They're
blood drinkers. There's one thing, though, you're pretty safe if you
don't move. Those sweet little birds--and they are birds, as a matter
of fact--hunt by sight."
Madsen was silent. Then he laughed, and turned to eye the remains of
the antelope fondly.
"And to think we didn't even have to bleed it," he said. "When we get
back, you might recommend some books for me to read, if you feel like
doing a good turn."