e entirely," Shotwell
said, "although it's the central factor. There are subsidiary
situations deriving from that central fact which are most intriguing."

"I have no doubt of it," said Duncan, "but if you please--"

"Without sex, there is no basis for the family, and without the family
there is no basis for a tribe, and yet the natives have an elaborate
tribal setup, with taboos by way of regulation. Somewhere there must
exist some underlying, basic unifying factor, some common loyalty,
some strange relationship which spells out to brotherhood."

"Not brotherhood," said Duncan, chuckling. "Not even sisterhood. You
must watch your terminology. The word you want is ithood."

The door pushed open and a native walked in timidly.

"Zikkara said that mister want me," the native told them. "I am Sipar.
I can track anything but screamers, stilt-birds, longhorns and
donovans. Those are my taboos."

"I am glad to hear that," Duncan replied. "You have no Cytha taboo,
then."

"Cytha!" yipped the native. "Zikkara did not tell me Cytha!"

Duncan paid no attention. He got up from the table and went to the
heavy chest that stood against one wall. He rummaged in it and came
out with a pair of binoculars, a hunting knife and an extra drum of
ammunition. At the kitchen cupboard, he rummaged once again, filling a
small leather sack with a gritty powder from a can he found.

"Rockahominy," he explained to Shotwell. "Emergency rations thought up
by the primitive North American Indians. Parched corn, ground fine.
It's no feast exactly, but it keeps a man going."

"You figure you'll be gone that long?"

"Maybe overnight. I don't know. Won't stop until I get it. Can't
afford to. It could wipe me out in a few days."

"Good hunting," Shotwell said. "I'll hold the fort."

Duncan said to Sipar: "Quit sniveling and come on."

He picked up the rifle, settled it in the crook of his arm. He kicked
open the door and strode out.

Sipar followed meekly.

II

Duncan got his first shot late in the afternoon of that first day.

In the middle of the morning, two hours after they had left the farm,
they had flushed the Cytha out of its bed in a thick ravine. But there
had been no chance for a shot. Duncan saw no more than a huge black
blur fade into the bush.

Through the bake-oven afternoon, they had followed its trail, Sipar
tracking and Duncan bringing up the rear, scanning every piece of
cover, with the sun-hot rifle always held