shipment from Venus, he instituted a garbage-disposal program. He condemned the shallow well, and had them build a wooden flume from a spring high up on the mountainside. Each radical move, however, had to wait until a cure he had effected assured him of sufficient momentary popularity to enable him to kick an ancient unsanitary practice overboard.

Then one night came a furtive sound at his door, as though someone were trying to enter by stealth. A cold shiver trickled down his spine. Though he doubted that the fire priest was coming to dispose of him, there was all too much chance that Kwangtan had convinced one of the tribe that carving the stranger would in the long run be beneficial. Despite the warning, and Verrill's readiness for whatever might be creeping up, he had his moment of terror. However well he handled himself, he could not win—for if he killed an intruder, there would be a blood feud.

Groping in the dark, he found a length of firewood. He had to end the matter by knocking the other out before he could come to grips to make it a finish fight. Stealthily, he skirted the wall. He heard the soft mumble of the leather-hinged door as it dragged the hard earth. A sliver of moonlight reached into the darkness. Barefooted, Verrill made no sound as he evaded the widening streak of light. A patch of shadow broke it. A dark shape edged into the gloom. Verrill measured the distance. He gathered himself.

He had to make sure whether there was only that one, or whether others had joined. He held his breath until his pulse hammered in his ears. The motion at the door had stopped. He was afraid to exhale—

And then he breathed again.

The one who approached had long hair which mirrored red glints. She had shifted enough for the moonlight to outline the curve of cheek and throat, and hint at the smoothness of shoulder and ripeness of breast. The arms were white and slender. Her stalking motion was beautiful even in the obscurity.

There was a whisper of sandals, and of breath. She was then of a sudden close against him, and seemingly not at all surprised. It was as though she had expected him to be precisely where they met in the darkness. He must have dropped the cudgel, for at the first touch of her, he was stroking the sleek red hair, and with the other hand tracing the curve of waist and back.

She snuggled closer, and he said, "Falana!" as though touch and taste and smell had identified the girl as surely as 

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