ones—send you here so we make mistake."

Guthrie stared down at the stocky Skirkh, trying to follow that chain of thought and wondering how many in the village would find it logical.

Most of them, I'm afraid, he thought. I wonder ... what if I just kept quiet and let him dig his own grave? If I read Trent right, he'll do it!

They sat for a while on the crest of the low hill, in the warmth of the sun. Polf seemed not to mind Guthrie's brooding. Patience was a Skirkhi forte. At times, the spacer pitied the natives, with their harsh and precarious life.

Maybe something could be done here, he reflected. A good, thorough survey would tell. After all, G. S. engineers have controlled temperatures on some planets by diverting a few ocean currents. And there's cloud-seeding....

"Huh!" he grunted. "Already thinking as if I were safe on Jhux."

He began to question Polf as to what the search party had reported, and derived a good idea of the route to the rocket. Tortuous details of Skirkhi trail directions baffled him every few minutes, so that it was twilight before he was satisfied that he could find the craft on his own. With Polf trailing, he strolled thoughtfully to his quarters, bracing for supper of fish or lizard.

At intervals during the next three days, he saw the new couple about the village. Trent, especially, did not seem eager to speak to him, and they were always accompanied by at least one Skirkhi couple.

In a moment of relaxation, Guthrie permitted himself to observe Karen with pleasure, when she appeared in her own clothes. With the mud washed out, it became apparent that she had been wearing a smart pair of lounging pajamas when interrupted by the spaceliner's alarm.

Trent had also cleaned his sport shirt and baggy slacks, and now went about making himself buoyantly pleasant to the natives. Once or twice, turning away from this spectacle with a frown, Guthrie chanced to encounter the black, analytical stare of old Thyggar. A sardonic grin quirked the elder's wide mouth.

"Retho tell me Trent learn speak Skirkhi fast," Polf reported, glittering eyes nearly hidden by the contortion that passed for a smile on Skirkhi faces, "so he can tell what a good man he is. He says is kind. He says is friend. You would laugh, Gut'rie—he call you names!"

"So will he laugh," growled Guthrie, 

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