out of the crowd.

"Thyggar wear sour look," mumbled Polf, trotting doggedly at his heels.

He sounded more respectful than at any time during the day. Guthrie reminded himself to watch out. He seemed to be earning too much admiration; it might be wiser to slack off before it drew retaliation. Through experience, he was learning to keep the score even, but....

Polf somehow managed to trip him as he turned into the doorway of the house assigned to him. He plunged through the low, dark entrance head first, displacing a crude but sturdy bench someone had left in the way.

"Your father was undoubtedly a good spirit who stole your mother's wits with a dream of soft summers," said Guthrie, sitting up just in time to thrust a boot between Polf's ankles.

The Skirkh sprawled in his turn upon the hard-packed floor. The two of them sat there for a long moment, raising both palms in the ritual gesture to the sky spirits and glaring at each other in mutual respect.

On the second morning after the arrival of Trent and Miss Norsund, Guthrie judged the time ripe for a longer talk.

When he and Polf approached the hut in which the newcomers were quartered, signs of obstructionism appeared; but the spacer sneered them down. By the time he found himself seated on the ground facing Trent and the girl, the onlookers had been reduced to Polf and a trio of glum guards. The former seemed to take pleasure in his comrades' loss of face.

"Sorry I took so long," Guthrie apologized. "There's a certain act you have to put on around here. They been treating you all right?"

He looked at the girl as he spoke, reflecting that a little cleaning up had improved her immeasurably. With the mud off, she displayed a glowing complexion and a headful of chestnut curls; and Guthrie was no longer sure she was too thin. He determined to check the first time she stood up in the short, borrowed dress of Skirkhi leather.

"Look here, Guthrie—that is your name, isn't it?" Trent asked peevishly.

"That's right. Pete Guthrie, currently employed, I hope, by the Galactic Survey. And you two are Trent and Norsund?"

"George Trent and Karen Norsund, yes. But what I want to say is that we find your attitude very strange. How can we expect co-operation from the 

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