the planet go round.

The Tarchiks have a lot of small time fetishes, but they also have one big god, a fat one made out of stone, out in the jungle over near Mount Clarke. Every so often they all go up in a body and pay him a visit, and they take along any spare pups, usually extra girl children or prisoners from other tribes. This god—Kachan, his name is, I think—likes children too. He likes them best roasted, like birds on a spit. Charming deity.

Anyway, when Duncan found out about Kachan, he got very upset. He went blazing out there to Mount Clarke, and he blew Kachan all to bits with a grenade. The Tarchiki didn't care for that, naturally.

About a week later, Duncan was on his way over to the big village near here, to give his Tarchik kids another arithmetic lesson, I suppose. Old Stancha—he was the local religious big shot, a kind of High Priest—threw a spear from the bushes, Tarchik fashion, and nailed Duncan very neatly. Nailed, yes. That's the way we found him, with his back against a tree.

Just another case of a man's foolishness catching up with him. But Duncan hasn't stopped giving us trouble yet, dead or not. First thing that happened was that old Stancha came in to the post, demanding to be executed. He claimed he'd made a big mistake killing Duncan, the biggest mistake of his life. I never could figure out what he meant—it seemed to have something to do with what Duncan said to him just before he died.

Well, if Stancha had kept his mouth shut, we'd have had no case at all, which would have been just fine with me. I was Agent, in Duncan's place, and I was out to see to it that business stayed good and got better. Can't annoy the natives by executing their high priest and expect good trade. But I couldn't very well let Stancha go, either, once he'd confessed. So I had him tried, all proper and correct, and executed him in due form.

Next thing I knew, the Tarchiks were putting Kachan back together again. They were all up there, building a great big new version, and having a first class party at the same time. These parties generally lead to a tail-hunting expedition, so I expected some trouble. But it didn't, this time.

There was plenty of noise, though. The Tarchiki never do anything quietly, and this seemed to be an occasion. What with drums, bagpipes, wailing and howling, there wasn't a bird would roost for twenty miles around.

When they got all through, I 

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