theneck-chain, two hauling at his waist.
He let them. Not that he was inured to pain--he just was stubborn.
He wondered, once when they all stopped at a spring for a drink and somerest, whether their haranguing showed the Agvars were sorry they hadn'ttaught him their language. Probably not, he decided; probably theydidn't want to think he could have learned it.
He'd tried, in the absence of lessons, by repeating what he heard aroundhim. He'd learned a few words, of course. And for a while, a couple ofvillagers had seemed to enjoy and encourage his parrot-like attempts torecite whole sentences they voiced for him. But after a few beatings,Chet gathered that he'd only been mouthing obscenities. And thatexperience, plus inertia, had made him give up the attempt.
Just as well, he now decided. If they'd known of his technical skills,if they'd let him raise their standards, the Agvars might be carryingbows and arrows, instead of mere slings and sticks.
Their hard luck! What they didn't know, they'd never learn from him! Themere presence of a spaceship on the same planet gave him a buoyantfeeling of contempt.
But though contempt helped him endure that journey through the tallmosses and taller trees, it couldn't ward off exhaustion. When the partystopped at the foot of a sheer rock spire that rose four or five hundredfeet above the tallest growth, he collapsed and slept.
* * * * *
They woke him in the pre-dawn twilight and another group of Agvars tookover. These--there were only three--looked older than the familiarvillagers. And they'd smeared their faces with bands of red and yellowmud. He wondered....
He stopped wondering when they passed a pile of bones at the base of thespire. Among the grisly relics were skulls--brow-ridged, pointed,unmistakably Agvar. Sacrifices!
He was to be killed, then, to propitiate his own rescuers. His threeguides--or guards--must be witch-doctors! He let them drag him alongwhile he thought about it.
They'd give him no breakfast, not even water. If they'd eatenthemselves, it was while he still slept. The scraps, if any, hadn't beenflung in his face, and there'd been no smooth post to lick the dew from.
Hunger and thirst were nothing new, but neither was the resultinglethargy. Realizing his danger, Chet could only hang back.
Today though that was an old stall; the witch-doctors seemed to expectit. They broke branches from the trees and beat him till he bled. Andwhen the climb up the rocks began, they put one of their number behindhim to push, set the other two in front to pull, and tried by mainstrength to haul him up the five hundred foot rock-face.
Hazily, not hastily, Chet tried to think of a way out. His starved braincould come up with nothing. That, he finally decided, was only natural;it was not thinking that was needed, but action.
Still, he wasn't precipitate. Caution reinforced his habitual lassitudewhile trying to dispell it. Half a dozen times he tensed for combat,only to relax hopelessly. But finally he found a place--and the will--tomake a stand.
He passed up a wide shelf, and let them tug him along a narrow ledgewithout much objection. He chose a near-vertical pitch about a hundredfeet from the bottom--a mere crack that slanted upward to the right,offering the shallowest of hand- and foot-holds.
He could only hope that he wasn't in sight from the trail--or else thatthe villagers had left. He couldn't see through the treetops to makesure. But he hadn't the strength to worry.
He froze to the rock, pulling as if in fright. The two witch-doctors insingle file above him jerked on the chains they held. But they needed ahand apiece to hold on with, and couldn't lift him.
The one below, standing on a six-inch ledge, tried to push. When thatdidn't work, he broke off a chunk of rock and beat Chet's left foot withit.
Spurred by the sudden pain, Chet kicked the witch-doctor in the face.The Agvar fell, screaming--until he crashed through the treetops and wasstill.
* * * * *
To Chet, forgetful of his hearing superiority, it seemed as if thatoutcry would be heard on Earth itself. Certainly he expected it to alarmthe countryside. Still, unless the swift foot-thrust had been seen, noone would be sure the witch-doctor's fall was not an accident....
Chet had tasted victory for the first time in three years! He'd had alittle revenge, and he wanted more. He could take the other twowitch-doctors with him to death!
He put all his weight on the chains they held. But they chose not todie--let go, instead, to save themselves. The chain-ends rattled past,dislodging a small avalanche of dust and gravel and bruisingstones--dislodging _him_ when the full weights jerked at neck and waist.
Prepared, he didn't let himself be pulled away from the cliff's face. Heslid down it to the ledge from which the Agvar below him had fallen.There he teetered a moment, balancing precariously on toes scraped rawin his slide. Clawing fingers found a crack to the right, a knob to theleft--safety! He clung there breathless.
No time for resting! Rattling stones warned of pursuit. He lookedquickly around, found a route, and after a short traverse let himselfslide to a long talus-slope. Down it he ran barefoot through sharpdebris into concealing mosses.
The silence alarmed him. But it freed him from the need for craft; hedidn't know what to avoid nor where it might be lurking, so he set outfor the spaceship by what he hoped was the shortest way.
In the village, he'd located the landing-place by sound, fixed it bysun. The sun would guide him now. Not accurately, but well enough.
The ship would have landed in a clearing. Standing on its tail, itshould loom high over the woods. And its men would scatter--he ought torun into one.
Run he did, trotting under thirty pounds of hardwood chain on reservesof strength dredged from a deep pit of desperation, through a forestovergrown with menace, full of life he could always sense but seldomsee--of noises whose origin he couldn't guess.
The Agvars, for all their inferior hearing, could at least interpretwhat they heard. Chet couldn't. Every whispered cry, wild grunt andmuttered growl was completely unfamiliar. He didn't know which soundsignalled danger. He feared them all.
But more than sounds he feared the silence that chinked the logs of timebetween each nerve-wracking noise. Often he had to stop and rest, andsilence threatened him then like the ominous quiet of bated breath. Whenhe'd force himself to go on, each tree seemed like a porchful ofmalicious old women, pretending to disregard him as he passed, certainto make trouble when he'd gone. The buzz of small life-forms was adeprecatory murmur, ready at any second to burst into condemnation andterror....
What was that sound? And that? Noises that seemed out of place in theirfamiliarity pinned him to the forest floor.
It was only the village. Satisfied, he worked up courage to skirt theplace and walk on toward the ship.
But he was near collapse. When he heard human voices he could only yellincoherently once or twice, sob, and pass out.
* * * * *
Dimly through succeeding days Chet was aware of the ship's sickbay, ofthe enlisted attendants, the hovering doctor, the silent commander.Later he realized he'd been kept under opiates so his body could recoverwhile his mind rested. At the time, he felt only the dimness.
It wore off abruptly. He was in a civilized cot, stretching luxuriously,aware of warmth and comfort and a cheerful voice that seemed familiar.
He opened his eyes. A fat young corpsman had been watching.
"How do you feel, sir?" the boy said. "Ready for coffee?"
"Sure," Chet answered. And grinned lazily as he sat up to sip theproffered cup. "You've taken good care of me."
"Used to be a barber in civilian life," the boy said smugly. And Chetfound with an exploratory hand that he'd been shaven and shorn, bathed,bandaged where necessary--even, he saw, clad in a pair of fancy redbroadcloth pajamas.
"You've got me cleaned up, all right," he said. "Whose p.j.'s have I goton?"
"Dr. Pine's, sir. You'll see him in a couple of minutes--he and the OldMa
n been waiting to question you. There's a robe and slippers, if youwant me to help you get up...."
"I'm not helpless," Chet said, boasting in his turn. He proved it byclimbing--gingerly--out of the cot. The boy helped him into the robe,found the slippers, pushed the small room's one chair an inch closer tothe open porthole, and left, closing the door behind him.
* * * * *
Vaguely Chet found he knew the two men who soon entered the room--they'dbeen there before. But this was his first fully conscious look at them.Commander Seymour, the C.O., looked surprisingly young for his job. He_was_ young, Chet decided--not over thirty-five--and his short slightfigure made him seem younger still.
He had few words. "You're looking fine, Barfield," he said, and sat onthe edge of the cot, thin face impassive, gray eyes alert.
Dr. Pine--tall,