'John said he meant to take part in the first big hunt,' she said. 'He wants to carry only native weapons.'

'Admirable, this desire to get into the subjects' skin,' Drummond said, looking up from an egg-shaped rock. 'But I think he's carrying it too far. What if he gets killed? What benefit will that be to science?'

'I would think you'd like -' Rachel said and then closed her mouth.

'Like him to be killed?' Drummond said in a low but fierce voice. 'Do you really believe I'm jealous of him? Should I be? Have you given me any reason?'

'Don't be a fool!' Rachel said. Her face was red. She turned and walked away a few feet but stopped by von Billmann's chair.

'I don't know what's the matter with him!' she said, half to herself, half to von Billmann. 'He was acting a little peculiar a few weeks before we launched. But since then he's gotten terrible. Do you think that there's something about this world, or about being cut off from his own time, that...?'

'Has Drummond checked the excess or lack of certain ions in the atmosphere?'

'He has, but I don't remember the results,' she said. 'It should have been the first thing I thought of. But I haven't noticed any change in my behavior. Or yours. Or John's.'

'I don't know about John,' von Billmann said. 'I've always detected a certain je-ne-sais-quoi about John, a certain repressed - uh - what the nineteenth-century writers called animal magnetism. Do you know what I mean?'

'Yes,' she said, looking at Gribardsun as he straightened up after a throw. The hand that held the long notched atlatl turned, and the muscles leaped out along his arm.

'There's something strange about him,' von Billmann said. 'I've known him, off and on, for twenty years. There's something of the wild beast about him. I don't mean that he's bestial, or degraded. He's one of nature's gentlemen, to use another archaic phrase. But there's definitely something scary deep down under that handsome hide.'

'The spear went dead center in the bull's eye,' she said. 'I don't see how anybody using that stick can get any accuracy.'

That evening the four sat around a hearth with Dubhab's family and watched pieces of deer sizzle on the ends of sticks they held. They were visiting Dubhab today; tomorrow, Waz-wim's family would be their hosts. To avoid any show of favoritism, the four visited each family by turn. This rotation also enabled them to become more familiar with each family. And, since each had his own pet interests, the visitors could get a broader view of Magdalenian society. Dubhab, for instance, a short, very hairy man with bright blue eyes and thin lips, was a born trader. Rather, he was a born confidence man, since he was always trying to get something for nothing or, at least, for very little.

Dubhab also liked to listen to himself talk and so he would launch into a lecture on almost any subject if he thought he had an audience. The four picked up much information - and a lot of superstitions and misinformation - about many things. But even the folk tales and the wrong data were information. They were part of the picture of what the Wota'shaimg believed.

Amaga was about Dubhab's age, somewhere between thirty-two and thirty-eight. She lacked five front teeth and a number of back teeth. Smallpox had scarred her face, as it had of half the tribe. Her naked beasts were huge and pendulous, though she informed them that they had been high and firm when she was a young woman. She had married Dubhab because he seemed to be on his way to the chieftainship. And he had been a very good provider. But later, he talked more than he acted, and he was always trying to get the better of others in a bargain. So he had become just another mediocre hunter, and he talked more than any woman, and she had, in effect, thrown herself away on him.

She did not say all this in front of Dubhab, of course, because he would have beaten her if she had demeaned his manhood in public. But, inside the walls of her tent, Amaga told him what she told the strangers.

Abinal, the son, was a 'normal' boy. He wanted to be a mighty hunter, and perhaps a chief, and he played at these fantasies when he wasn't working. His work consisted of learning to hunt, which was no work at all for him, and how to pick berries and other plants in the summer. He shuttled back and forth between learning a man's work and a woman's work. When he came of age - at twelve or thereabouts - he would go through the rites of passage and no longer help the women.

Laminak's rites would be conducted by the women in the summer in some place hidden from men's eyes. In the meantime, she was becoming a woman without getting official approval. She worshipped John Gribardsun and frequently made a nuisance of herself by hanging around when he wanted private talks with others. But he did not get angry.

Tonight, Dubhab was trying to get Gribardsun to promise him the horn of a rhinoceros or the tusks of a mammoth. Tomorrow, the Wota'shaimg were going on a big hunt, and the four strangers - the Sha'shinq - were going along. Dubhab was certain that Gribardsun would kill some of the big game with his loud noise stick, and he wanted a gift. The horn of a rhinoceros, set before the tent of a warrior, ensured that that man would have strength and courage and prosperity. The tusk of a mammoth was also valuable for several reasons.

John Gribardsun politely refused several times, saying that whoever deserved the horns or tusks, according to the customs of the Wota'shaimg, would get them. Dubhab argued that it was a certainty that Gribardsun would kill many with the stick. Why couldn't he see his way clear to giving Dubhab at least one?

Finally Gribardsun, irked, said that he did not want to hear any more about it. For one thing, he did not plan to use his thunder stick. Von Billmann would be carrying it, but he would use it only if he had to. He, Gribardsun, would be with the hunters and using the same weapons they used.

Dubhab swallowed his disappointment and managed to smile at the Englishman. Gribardsun - or Koorik, as he was called, meaning Thunder Death - would be a mighty hunter even with ordinary weapons. He would surely slay a dozen great beasts with his spear alone. Why couldn't he...?

Gribardsun disliked cutting the man off because of his fondness for Laminak. But he stood up, bade them good night, and walked off. The others were caught by surprise, but they followed him. He went to the fire around which sat Tham-mash, the chief, Wazwim, the singer, Glamug, the shaman, and Angrogrim, the strong man. It was the custom that everyone say good night to the chief before retiring, and Gribardsun tried to live within the customs as well as he could.

The men had been squatting by the big hearths. Over this pile of stones the head men of the Wota'shaimg gathered each evening. As the four approached the hearth, the head men stood up. Glamug got up last, not because of any reluctance to honor them, but because of his rheumatism. Though he might have resented the presence of mightier magicians, he did not seem to do so. He had already hinted that if they had anything to alleviate rheumatism, he would be most grateful. His dancing was becoming steadily more painful. Gribardsun had said that he would see what he could do. He was studying his medical books in the late evenings, seeking a cure for Glamug's ailment. Rheumatism was unknown in modern days though not when he was a young man. But he had paid it no attention then, and when he became an M.D. fairly late in life, he had never had reason to learn much about it.

The party had been inoculated against every disease supposed to be rampant in the Pleistocene, but since they were genetically invulnerable to rheumatism, they had taken no shots nor brought along any books about the disease. This was one of the curious omissions that the expedition ran across every now and then. It was well known, from a study of the bones of middle Magdalenian man, that rheumatism and kindred arthritic diseases were common. But, somehow, these had been overlooked.