The next day was the same, with a near calm across the valley. Again the men of the tribe ventured only a few hundred yards from the cliff, and at the evening meal there was only a few scrapings of gruel in the pot.

The third day dawned blustery, with ragged gray clouds breaking over Mount Kebali like surf over a sea-wall.

Clet ordered Flatface, Barch, the Modoks and the Calbyssinians out to grub for meal-nuts, while the remaining men filed into the forest to hunt meat.

The bugling of the Podruods sounded an hour later. Barch and the Calbyssinians jumped up, seized the half-filled bags, hurried back around the hillside.

Across the valley rang the hunting cries, converging near the dominating bluff; looking over his shoulder Barch glimpsed the ominous dark shadow of the Klau raft.

The hunters came filing back to the cave one at a time, wide-eyed with exhaustion.

Across the valley the bugle calls suddenly ceased. Standing in the crevice Barch saw the black raft slipping down the valley toward the notch.

Four hunters had not yet returned: Clet, Moranko, the two Splangs, Chevrr and Skurr.

Clet slipped in first, his bony red face impassive. Then came Moranko carrying a dead creature that looked like a wooly caterpillar. Minutes passed. Chevrr crossed the flat. He muttered a few words to Clet, jerked his thumb across the valley.

Skurr, the Splang, had been hunted down and killed.

On sudden impulse Barch dropped into the seat opposite to where Clet sat whetting his knife. "I think we should do something about these hunts."

Clet turned him a brief cool glance, returned to his work. Steel rasped on stone, lamplight flickered and winked on the metal as the big red hands methodically stroked. Barch raised his voice: "We don't necessarily need to skulk around this valley." He paused; Clet showed no interest.

Trying to keep anger out of his voice, Barch said, "Every week somebody else gets killed."

"More always come," said Clet. "Too many in the cave is not good."

"Next time the Klau hunt, they might get you-or me." Clet shrugged. "We should hunt them instead-kill the Podruods, kill the Klau."

"No, no," said Clet impatiently. "Then a warship comes down to kill us all. We live good now, hey?" He laughed complacently. "Food, women, hey? Same way for many, many years. Best not to change."

Barch rose slowly to his feet, staring in frustration down at Clet, who glanced up impassively, then returned to his whetstone.

Five days passed, low angry days full of rain and stormy gusts that tilled Big Hole with eery whistling sounds.

The sixth day was quiet, with a high overcast rippled with fish-scale black. Barch found Clet eating his breakfast of toasted meat and gruel cake. "Today the Klau might come again. If we went down to the notch, and hid where they enter the valley-"

Clet shook his head stubbornly, at the same time gnawing a bone.

Komeitk Lelianr knelt by the fire, tending the gruel cakes which baked on a hot rock. She turned her head, spoke shortly. "Don't argue with him, Roy; he's very single-minded."

Clet looked up. "What does she say?" He dropped the bone, put his wide red hands on the table.

Barch looked down at him in disgust. Blood raced through his body. He felt strong. His voice came out harsh and deep. "Maybe you want to live in a cave all your life like an animal!"

Clet's eyes gleamed under the black eyebrows; he seemed to be listening not to Barch so much as to an inner secret voice.

"There's ways of leaving Magarak, if we'd work together."

Clet grunted contemptuously, turned back to his bone. "Now comes the crazy talk."

Barch was taken aback. "Crazy talk?"

Clet's big white teeth glittered in a grin. He flourished the bone toward Komeitk Lelianr. "She told me much about you," he said. "You are a crazy man; you would fly through the space like a magician." His voice rose, his eyes glittered. "Now, no more crazy talk; this is Palkwarkz Ztvo, I am Clet."

Barch slowly went to the mouth of the cave, took his bow and quiver of arrows.

"Ho!" Clet called gruffly. "Where do you go?"

"None of your damn business."

From back in the cave came the sudden scrape of the bench; Barch saw Clet reaching for his own bow. He ducked out the cave mouth, ran across the open space. He glimpsed Clet standing in the crevice like a heroic statue of Mars: bow bent, arrow tense with imminent mission. Barch flung himself to the ground; the arrow sang over his head. He rose, dodged into the trees where he pulled an arrow into bis own bow, waited, pale and shaking.

After a careless survey of the valley, Clet returned inside the cave.

Barch walked morosely down-slope under the flapping fronds. An inglorious exit, he thought. He stopped, looked back toward the cave. He recalled the first time he had seen Komeitk Lelianr, stepping jauntily from the circus-striped space-ball. If she had noticed him at all, it had been as part of the local scene, a native. He felt a sudden glimmer of insight into her mind. Poor devil, thought Barch, she even found Earth food revolting… Well, that was all water under the bridge. And now what? Probably, after Clet's temper had run its course, he could return to the cave. And so the years would pass, while he grew older and his fire died out.

No, said Barch, not if he died today under the Klau raft. He turned, ran at a half-trot to the notch at the valley mouth. He climbed the left-hand slope, settled himself at the narrowest spot.

Time passed. Wind blew chill down the valley, a rim of black clouds loomed past Mount Kebali. A drop touched his nose; only one. The rain hung off in indecision. A poor day to expect the Klau.

Then he heard the scrape of boots, the soft clang of Podruod voices. Barch tingled with primeval emotion. He sat up straighter, eased his muscles.

Eight Podruods came trotting into the valley, light as dancers in their black boots. Cuirasses covered their chests, black hair-spikes vibrated with each step. A cushioned raft followed, floating three feet off the ground. A young Klau in maroon harness sat fingering a pair of weapons on a rack. He halted the raft, glanced easily around the valley. Barch glimpsed the blood-red stars in his eyes.

The Klau touched controls with his feet, jumped to the ground, stretched. Negligently he conferred with the Podruod sergeant, studied the contours of the valley, pointed.

Six Podruods moved quietly off into the black fronds. Two remained behind, squatting a little distance up the valley.

The Klau languidly took up one of his weapons-it looked much like a long-barreled automatic, thought Barch- and balanced it in his hand.

Barch eased himself into position. He stretched the bow… Now! The arrow hummed down, plunged into the back of the black head.

Barch crashed down the slope, sprang to the raft, reached across the black body, seized the weapons.

The Podruods said, "Oh!"-a soft hiss of outrage and horror.

Barch aimed, pressed the trigger. Nothing. The Podruods loped forward, mouths open in contortions of great rage. Barch clawed a lever, perhaps a safety lock. He pressed the trigger; the first sprawled on his face. Barch pressed again; the second fell.

Barch listened. Silence except for the murmur of the river, a distant sound of snapping foliage. Now what? He seized the Klau's maroon harness, dragged the body into the undergrowth. He turned to the raft, seated himself; it bounced like a boat under his weight. He put his feet into the controls, experimented.

The raft shook, dodged back and forth, rose up on an alarming slant. Barch pulled away his feet; the raft sank slowly. Once more he tried and presently brought the raft back to the mouth of the valley.