“You aren’t goin’ to be allowed in there, you know.”
Hosteen shook his head. “I don’t know, nor do you. They were going to take you with them, weren’t they?”
Rather to his surprise Logan shook his head. “I don’t know. I only hoped.”
“What’s going on? Have you any idea?”
“Something that has never happened before and that breaks straight through tribal custom. Hosteen, when you went in with the archaeologist to explore those valley ruins, didn’t he have a medicine man for a guide, a Norbie who said that the Old Ones wanted their secrets to be revealed now?”
“Yes. Nothing came of it, though. Those Xik holdouts got the medicine man the same time they wiped out our camp after the big flood.”
“But a secret was revealed—we found the Cavern of the Hundred Gardens. Well, the word’s out now that the Old Ones are callin’ in the clans, plannin’ something big. The Norbies have sent out peace poles; every feud has been buried. And the cause is somewhere back in the Blue. But the whole thing is ‘medicine.’ Let our authorities in, and they will blow it and the tribes wide open. A wrong move now could set every Norbie against us. We’ll have to walk small and quiet until we are sure of what we’re facin’. I thought Krotag might take me in so I could learn somethin’. I know what those Norbie haters such as Dumaroy could do with a chance to botch up a ‘medicine’ talk—”
“Which is exactly why ’Asizi is sitting on the blast pin down in the valley now. Didn’t think of talking this over with him before you blew, did you?”
Logan flushed. “I know—I know—You think I should have done that. But it doesn’t work out—we’d have talked and then maybe argued. We don’t think in the same paths. Brad Quade—he’s a big man—the kind of man the valley people need. Me—I’m a wild one—I can’t want just the holding and building up the herd and being my father’s son! Maybe it was the same with Father when he was young. He signed up with Survey, didn’t he, and went all over the star lanes? Well, when I was old enough to try somethin’ like that, there was the war on—no Survey, and they said I was too young for the Service. So I took to goin’ with the Norbies. Sometimes it seems as if they’re more my kind than people like Jaffe or Starle.
“Then—well, I guess. I counted too big on that plan of Kelson’s for a Ranger force. He promised me the first enlistment in that. It fell through—just like we thought it might. So, maybe I was sore about that. Anyway, I went back to huntin’ with the clans—that’s how I heard about this.
“And it blew up so suddenly that I knew I didn’t dare wait and get in a chew-over about it. I had to ride with the clan then or not at all. The river valley—there’s too much talkin’ there and not enough doin’! This time I know I was in the right!”
Hosteen shrugged. Argument now was wasted time, and he could understand Logan’s frustration. As the younger boy had the wit to see, the inherited strain that had taken Brad Quade into space in his own youth was now working in his son. “I will agree that you did as you thought best. I’m here not about that but for Widders—”
“And to do some nose-pokin’ for Kelson—”
“If I make a report to Kelson, that is no more than you were going to do. Think straight, ach’ooni.” Deliberately he used the word for brother-friend. “We both know that this situation may hold the seeds of trouble, not only for the settlers but also for the clans. Before, we faced the Xik, and this may be something of the same again. To search for a missing man in the hills is an excuse that the Norbies may accept.”
“All right. I’ll back you.”
“And join me?”
For a moment Logan hesitated. “If they do not turn you back here and now—”
They sat down away from the fire and somewhat ceremoniously shared a drink from Hosteen’s canteen, action that would express their present accord to any watching clansmen. As Hosteen rescrewed the cap, Krotag stalked toward them.
“We have thought on this matter of your search.” His fingers worked in sharp jerks. “For the time, you ride with us—until we may consult with ‘medicine.’”
“As Krotag wishes.” Hosteen bowed his head formally and then eyed the chief with a straightness that demanded equality. “As I accede, do you also when the times comes—”
Krotag did not reply. Two youths were throwing sand on the flames. The rest of the men were bringing up their mounts, preparing to ride out.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hosteen smeared the back of his hand across his chin and winced as the cracked and tender skin of his lips reacted to that half-unconscious action. He had given the major portion of his water to the animals, and he had not asked the natives for any of their dwindling supply. Unless within the hour he could strike across the country to the waiting dump, he would be in real trouble. Whether this was a carefully planned move of discouragement on Krotag’s part, he did not know, but his suspicions of that were growing. He had no doubts of reaching the cache—Baku’s aerial survey would guide him—but soon his mounts would be past rough travel. And trail-tough though he was, Hosteen doubted if a man on foot could make that journey.
Well, there was no use delaying the test any longer. He sent his range horse up along the line of march, past Norbie warriors to Krotag. In the fore he matched pace with the native chief.
“There comes a time for the parting of trails.” Hosteen addressed Krotag with outer assurance. “He who does not whistle water must seek it elsewhere.”
“You do not ask it of those who know?”
“In the Big Dry who asks water of friends? It is then more precious than blood. He who sent me to find his son has also sent water—lifting it ahead through the air.”
Would Hosteen’s policy of the complete truth defeat him now? The air travel of the settlers was unquestioned in the lowlands, tolerated in certain higher districts. But from the first, only one space port had been conceded by the Norbie, who argued that Those-Who-Drum-Thunder in the mountains must not be looked down on from the air. And perhaps a ’copter in these hills would be resented, especially now.
The Terran could read no emotion on the Norbie chieftain’s face, though those eyes continued to study him for a long moment. Then fingers moved.
“Where lies this water brought through the sky?”
Following native custom, Hosteen pointed with his chin to a line lying southeast of their present track. Krotag spoke over his shoulder, the shrill twittering bringing out of line and cantering ahead two warriors, followed by Logan.
“No one may deny water when it can be found.” Krotag repeated the first law of his people. “But this is country in which the wild ones roam, and you have many horses. So it is wise that you do not ride alone. These shall be added bows.” With a thumb jerk he indicated the measure of security in Krotag’s choice. Both were familiar natives.
Gorgol and his own son Kavok—Hosteen felt a small measure of security in Krotag’s choice. Both were familiar with settler ways, had ridden for Quade. Once he had thought that he was on a basis of friendship with Gorgol, though the happenings of the past days had made the Terran more wary of claiming any sure standing with the young warrior.
Logan crowded his mount forward. “I would ride, too.”
Again Krotag appeared to consider the point before he gave assent. Then the native line plodded on in the evening dusk just as they had ridden through the two nights since Hosteen had joined them, while he drew aside his horses, the extra mounts and the pack mares. Surra, responding to his suggestion, was already ranging along the side gully they must use to cut back to the wider canyon up which Quade and he had planned his entrance into the Blue.