e
the sword crept into his hands.

Sheckly stared at the sword, and his heart leaped. He thought there was
a tinge of red on the blade's edge. Mentally, he shook his head. No, it
was his imagination again. Just imagination. Still, the drawn sword
clearly indicated that the invitation was not to be refused.

"All right," he said weakly. "All right, in a few minutes."

"Now," the other said.

"Okay, now," the Earthling agreed listlessly. "Where is my companion?"

"You will see him," the creature promised.

Sheckly breathed a sigh of relief at that. Harding was probably all
right then. It made him feel better, though it would make the task of
leaving much harder.

* * * * *

They had arrived at twilight the previous day, so they hadn't the
opportunity to see the village in its entirety. They hadn't missed much,
Sheckly realized as he walked along, for the grouped huts were
unimpressive, looking somewhat like a primitive African village back on
Earth. But the Earthling would have preferred the most primitive Earth
native to these serpents. In the distance, the slim nose of the rocket
ship pointed the way to freedom, and Sheckly looked longingly at it.

At one end of the village was a small mountain of what appeared to be
plastic clothing, milkily translucent--which was strange, since these
creatures wore no clothing. The Earthling wondered at this but did not
ask about it. Other thoughts more important troubled him.

"In here," the interpreter told him, stopping before the largest hut.

Hesitating briefly, Sheckly entered and the creature followed him in.
Seated on the floor were the leader and his mate and several smaller
reptiles that evidently were the children. Between them lay several
bowls of food. Sheckly grimaced and turned hastily away as he saw small
crawling insects in one bowl.

"Sit down," the interpreter directed.

Harding was not in evidence. "Where is my companion?" he asked.

The interpreter conferred briefly with the leader, then told Sheckly,
"He could not come. Sit down--eat."

Sheckly sat down, but he didn't feel like eating. He wondered _why_
Harding could not come. At a sudden thought, he said, "I have rations on
my ship--"

"Eat," the interpreter said, gripping his sword.

Sheckly nodded weakly and reached out for the bowl of fruit, taking one
that resembled that which Harding had eaten the previous night. It
wasn't bad. The leader stuffed a fistful