started, he wouldn't have a chance.
"It'll be expensive, gents," he told them.
And he was astonished at how calm, how coldly objective he could be,now that the chips were down. But that was the way it was, herealized.
He'd thought, a while ago, how a man might suddenly find himself faceto face with an aroused and cooperating planet. Maybe this was it inminiature.
The Cytha had obviously passed the word along: _Man back there needskilling. Go and get him._
Just like that, for a Cytha would be the power here. A life force, thegiver of life, the decider of life, the repository of all animal lifeon the entire planet.
There was more than one of them, of course. Probably they had homedistricts, spheres of influence and responsibility mapped out. Andeach one would be a power supreme in its own district.
Momism, he thought with a sour grin. Momism at its absolute peak.
Nevertheless, he told himself, it wasn't too bad a system if youwanted to consider it objectively.
But he was in a poor position to be objective about that or anythingelse.
* * * * *
The screamers were inching closer, hitching themselves forward slowlyon their bottoms.
"I'm going to set up a deadline for you critters," Duncan called out."Just two feet farther, up to that rock, and I let you have it."
He'd get all six of them, of course, but the shots would be the signalfor the general rush by all those other animals slinking in the brush.
If he were free, if he were on his feet, possibly he could beat themoff. But pinned as he was, he didn't have a chance. It would be allover less than a minute after he opened fire. He might, he figured,last as long as that.
The six inched closer and he raised the rifle.
But they stopped and moved no farther. Their ears lifted just alittle, as if they might be listening, and the grins dropped fromtheir faces. They squirmed uneasily and assumed a look of guilt and,like shadows, they were gone, melting away so swiftly that he scarcelysaw them go.
Duncan sat quietly, listening, but he could hear no sound.
Reprieve, he thought. But for how long? Something had scared them off,but in a while they might be back. He had to get out of here and hehad to make it fast.
If he could find a longer lever, he could move the tree. There was abranch slanting up from the topside of the fallen tree. It was almostfour inches at the butt and it carried its diameter well.
He slid the knife from his belt and looked at it. Too small, too thin,he thought, to chisel through a four-inch branch, but it was all hehad. When a man was desperate enough, though, when his very lifedepended on it, he would do anything.
He hitched himself along, sliding toward the point where the branchprotruded from the tree. His pinned leg protested with stabs of painas his body wrenched it around. He gritted his teeth and pushedhimself closer. Pain slashed through his leg again and he was stilllong inches from the branch.
He tried once more, then gave up. He lay panting on the ground.
There was just one thing left.
He'd have to try to hack out a notch in the trunk just above his leg.No, that would be next to impossible, for he'd be cutting into thewhorled and twisted grain at the base of the supporting fork.
Either that or cut off his foot, and that was even more impossible. Aman would faint before he got the job done.
It was useless, he knew. He could do neither one. There was nothing hecould do.
* * * * *
For the first time, he admitted to himself: He would stay here anddie. Shotwell, back at the farm, in a day or two might set out huntingfor him. But Shotwell would never find him. And anyhow, by nightfall,if not sooner, the screamers would be back.
He laughed gruffly in his throat--laughing at himself.
The Cytha had won the hunt hands down. It had used a human weakness towin and then had used that same human weakness to achieve a viciouslypoetic vengeance.
After all, what could one expect? One could not equate human ethicswith the ethics of the Cytha. Might not human ethics, in certaincases, seem as weird and illogical, as infamous and ungrateful, to analien?
He hunted for a twig and began working again to clean the rifle bore.
A crashing behind him twisted him around and he saw the Cytha. Behindthe Cytha stalked a donovan.
He tossed away the twig and raised the gun.
"No," said the Cytha sharply.
The donovan tramped purposefully forward and Duncan felt the pricklingof the skin along his back. It was a frightful thing. Nothing couldstand before a donovan. The screamers had turned tail and run whenthey had heard it a couple of miles or more away.
The donovan was named for the first known human to be killed by one.That first was only one of many. The roll of donovan-victims ran long,and no wonder, Duncan thought. It was the closest he had ever been toone of the beasts and he felt a coldness creeping over him. It waslike an elephant and a tiger and a grizzly bear wrapped in theselfsame hide. It was the most vicious fighting machine that ever hadbeen spawned.
He lowered the rifle. There would be no point in shooting. In twoquick strides, the beast could be upon him.
The donovan almost stepped on him and he flinched away. Then the greathead lowered and gave the fallen tree a butt and the tree bounced fora yard or two. The donovan kept on walking. Its powerfully muscledstern moved into the brush and out of sight.
"Now we are even," said the Cytha. "I had to get some help."
Duncan grunted. He flexed the leg that had been trapped and he couldnot feel the foot. Using his rifle as a cane, he pulled himself erect.He tried putting weight on the injured foot and it screamed with pain.
He braced himself with the rifle and rotated so that he faced theCytha.
"Thanks, pal," he said. "I didn't think you'd do it."
"You will not hunt me now?"
Duncan shook his head. "I'm in no shape for hunting. I am headinghome."
"It was the _vua_, wasn't it? That was why you hunted me?"
"The _vua_ is my livelihood," said Duncan. "I cannot let you eat it."
The Cytha stood silently and Duncan watched it for a moment. Then hewheeled. Using the rifle for a crutch, he started hobbling away.
The Cytha hurried to catch up with him.
"Let us make a bargain, mister. I will not eat the _vua_ and you willnot hunt me. Is that fair enough?"
"That is fine with me," said Duncan. "Let us shake on it."
He put down a hand and the Cytha lifted up a paw. They shook,somewhat awkwardly, but very solemnly.
"Now," the Cytha said, "I will see you home. The screamers would haveyou before you got out of the woods."
VI
They halted on a knoll. Below them lay the farm, with the _vua_ rowsstraight and green in the red soil of the fields.
"You can make it from here," the Cytha said. "I am wearing thin. It isan awful effort to keep on being smart. I want to go back to ignoranceand comfort."
"It was nice knowing you," Duncan told it politely. "And thanks forsticking with me."
He started down the hill, leaning heavily on the rifle-crutch. Then hefrowned troubledly and turned back.
"Look," he said, "you'll go back to animal again. Then you willforget. One of these days, you'll see all that nice, tender _vua_and--"
"Very simple," said the Cytha. "If you find me in the _vua_, justbegin hunting me. With you after me, I will quickly get smart andremember once again and it will be all right."
"Sure," agreed Duncan. "I guess that will work."
The Cytha watched him go stumping down the hill.
Admirable, it thought. Next time I have a brood, I think I'll raise adozen like him.
It turned around and headed for the deeper brush.
It felt intelligence slipping from it, felt the old, uncaring comfortcoming back again. But it glowed with anticipation, seethed withhappiness at the big surprise it had in s
tore for its new-foundfriend.
Won't he be happy and surprised when I drop them at his door, itthought.
Will he be ever pleased!
--CLIFFORD D. SIMAK
* * * * *
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