ing in the thorn bush, mister."

"I didn't hear a thing."

"Little pattering. Something is running there."

Duncan listened closely. What Sipar said was true. A lot of little
things were running in the thicket.

"More than likely mice," he said.

He finished his rockahominy and took an extra swig of water, gagging
on it slightly.

"Get your rest," he told Sipar. "I'll wake you later so I can catch a
wink or two."

"Mister," Sipar said, "I will stay with you to the end."

"Well," said Duncan, somewhat startled, "that is decent of you."

"I will stay to the death," Sipar promised earnestly.

"Don't strain yourself," said Duncan.

He picked up the rifle and walked down to the waterhole.

The night was quiet and the land continued to have that empty feeling.
Empty except for the fire and the waterhole and the little micelike
animals running in the thicket.

And Sipar--Sipar lying by the fire, curled up and sound asleep
already. Naked, with not a weapon to its hand--just the naked animal,
the basic humanoid, and yet with underlying purpose that at times was
baffling. Scared and shivering this morning at mere mention of the
Cytha, yet never faltering on the trail; in pure funk back there on
the knoll where they had lost the Cytha, but now ready to go on to the
death.

Duncan went back to the fire and prodded Sipar with his toe. The
native came straight up out of sleep.

"Whose death?" asked Duncan. "Whose death were you talking of?"

"Why, ours, of course," said Sipar, and went back to sleep.

III

Duncan did not see the arrow coming. He heard the swishing whistle and
felt the wind of it on the right side of his throat and then it
thunked into a tree behind him.

He leaped aside and dived for the cover of a tumbled mound of boulders
and almost instinctively his thumb pushed the fire control of the
rifle up to automatic.

He crouched behind the jumbled rocks and peered ahead. There was not a
thing to see. The hula-trees shimmered in the blaze of sun and the
thorn-bush was gray and lifeless and the only things astir were three
stilt-birds walking gravely a quarter of a mile away.

"Sipar!" he whispered.

"Here, mister."

"Keep low. It's still out there."

Whatever it might be. Still out there and waiting for another shot.
Duncan shivered, remembering the feel of the arrow flying past his
throat. A hell of a way for a man to die--out at the tail-end of
nowhere with an arrow in his throat and a