One of the women in the center of the clearing laughed and came toward
them. She was stick-thin, as were Al-fin and most of the others, and
very dirty. As she came near she smiled. Her teeth were discolored and
rotting. She giggled.
Al-fin indicated her with a sweep of his arm. "Mate?" he inquired.
Wallace felt himself reddening. "Is he offering her to us?" he asked
Saxton.
"I think so." Saxton smiled uneasily. "It looks like it's our move now."
"We'll have to risk offending them." Wallace looked at Al-fin and
shook his head vigorously. "No mate," he said.
The woman giggled again and walked away. Al-fin seemed to have lost
interest. He pulled himself jerkily to his feet and went across the
clearing to the fire that the two surveyors had noted earlier. A large
clay kettle rested on a flat rock over the fire.
"There's meat in that kettle," Saxton said, whimsically licking his
lips. "I hope he passes some around."
"I don't think we should eat any," Wallace cautioned.
"Why not?"
"You know the saying, one man's meat...."
"But I'm starved for fresh meat," Saxton argued.
"We'll see if we can get him to give us some," Wallace said. "We can
take it back to the ship and test it before we eat any."
They watched Al-fin as he dug in the kettle with a stick and placed the
food he speared on a large leaf. He carried it to where an old man sat
with his back resting against a tree trunk. The hoary veteran had a
long scar on his right arm that ran from shoulder to elbow; evidently
he had had a brush with one of the big cats sometime in the past. Oddly
enough, he was the only native that was not thin and hungry-looking.
"He must be the chief," Saxton said. "At least he's well fed."
Wallace nodded.
When Al-fin returned Saxton said, "Meat." At the same time he rubbed
his stomach in a circular motion.
Al-fin paused, thinking over what Saxton had said, then nodded several
times. He made a gesture with his arm for them to follow and led them
to the fat old man. "Meat," Al-fin intoned expressionlessly, and stood
as though waiting for the old man's reply.
"I hope he's in a generous mood," Saxton said.
They had seen no sign from the old man, but Al-fin turned to them and
nodded once more. "Meat," he said. He made no further move.
"Why doesn't he get it?" Saxton asked finally. "Apparently he
agrees--but he just stands there."
"Maybe we're supposed to do something now," Wallace said. "But what? Do
you suppose we're expected to pay him some way?"
"That could be," Saxton answered. "Or maybe the chief's eating the
last of what they have now, and they'll give us a chunk when they get
some more. Anyway, let's not wait any longer. I'm starved. Even canned
concentrate would taste good to me now."
* * * * *
By morning the s-tracer had marked the tracking chart sufficiently to
give them some data on the bloodhound's actions. Wallace went over it
carefully.
Saxton stayed in his bunk and pretended to be still sleepy, but Wallace
could feel his gaze following the work closely. When at last he looked
up Saxton said, "Well?"
"We have something to work on," Wallace answered the question in his
voice. "But unless we get more, I don't see how it will help us.
"The bloodhound," he went on, not waiting for further inquiry from
Saxton, "is acting pretty much as we thought it would. It has
no straight line trajectory. At irregular intervals it circles,
backtracks, or goes off at a new tangent. Often it stays over a
particular territory for longer than the three hours we'd need to get
away. It's probable that at some time it will do this on the other side
of the planet--where it couldn't pick up the signal of our leaving.
But...."