the cliff, while it was rather steep, was not precipitous. Indeed, here and there there was the clear sign of a carved step. Something, at one time, at any rate, doubtless in the distant past, had used that path.
“Ah!” said Rodriguez, hoisting himself to the height of the cliff.
“I hear it quite clearly now,” said Brenner, stopping on the ascent, looking about.
“Come up,” said Rodriguez.
In a moment Brenner had attained the level and was beside Rodriguez.
“There is the village,” said Rodriguez, pointing.
“Yes,” said Brenner uneasily. He could see the palisade, and the village within, tiny, thatched, with smoke from cooking fires ascending into the sky, located in the center of a large, environing clearing.
“What is wrong?” asked Rodriguez.
“Surely you can hear it now?” said Brenner.
“You have excellent hearing,” said Rodriguez.
“Listen,” said Brenner.
Yes!” said Rodriguez.
The sound was faint, but it was clear now. It was a bit difficult to interpret, of course. Something in it sounded like a pack, except that there was no baying, no barking. There were, in it, the sounds of more than one organism. One thing was clear. They were not silent runners, one of the forms of life in the forest, humped, crested quadrupeds which, in groups of five to ten, were wont to pursue a quarry in deadly silence, if necessary, for hours at a time.
“It is Pons,” said Brenner.
“Yes,” said Rodriguez.
There was no mistaking the sounds of Pons, that particular vocal timber, that special quality of sound produced by their tiny throats, but these noises, though doubtless of Pons, seemed somehow anomalous emanating from such small, gentle creatures. These sounds seemed unusually shrill, angry, hysterical, even vengeful.
“There must be several of them,” said Brenner.
“You would come here openly,” said Rodriguez, in disgust.
“I don’t think this has anything to do with us,” said Brenner.
Rodriguez unslung the Naxian rifle.
“They are coming this way,” said Brenner.
“Step back, do not let them see you,” said Rodriguez.
“No,” said Brenner. “We have nothing to hide.”
“There must be another way down,” said Rodriguez, backing away.
Brenner heard the arming of the Naxian rifle.
“Do not do anything foolish,” said Brenner.
Rodriguez was somewhere behind him. He was not, presumably, as Brenner was, standing on the edge of the cliff, outlined against the sky.
“Something is coming from the trees!” said Brenner. “It is alone! No, it is being followed! It is a Pon. It is being pursued by other Pons!”
“Look here!” cried Rodriguez. “There is a path down here, on the other side. And there is a valley between cliffs. There are openings of some sort in the far cliff.”
“Come here!” said Brenner.
“The openings are not natural,” said Rodriguez. “They are squared, rectangular.”
“It is running this way!” said Brenner.
“I think it is a burial place, a graveyard,” said Rodriguez.
The tiny Pon, several yards before its pursuers, hurried into the amphitheater.
“It’s below!” said Brenner. “This may be a place of sanctuary!”
“Do not let them see you!” said Rodriguez.
“It is on the platform!” said Brenner.
The Pon below, on the heavy platform, was casting about, wildly.
It is highly unlikely this is a place of sanctuary,” said Rodriguez. “Come away. Do not let them see you. There is a path down, on this side.”
“It sees me!” said Brenner. “So, too, do the others! They are not stopping!”
“This is no place of sanctuary,” said Rodriguez, grimly. He now stood beside Brenner, in full view. He had his arm in the sling of the weapon, to steady it, in firing.
The fleeing Pon, having seen Brenner, now began to scramble up the cliff side.
“What are they going to do to it?” asked Brenner.
“Ki11 it,” speculated Rodriguez.
“No!” said Brenner.
In an instant the fleeing Pon had reached Brenner and, whimpering and howling, clutched his leg, pressing itself against it.
The other Pons, below, on the path up, stopped. The path was narrow, and Brenner and Rodriguez, even without the rifle, could have defended it against such tiny foes, however militant.
“She is frightened,” said Brenner. He touched the head of the Pon, soothingly.
“It is a she?” said Rodriguez.
“Certainly,” said Brenner.
“You are aware that distances have been breached,” said Rodriguez.
The Pon looked up at Brenner, her eyes wide. Her nostrils, almost flat with her face, opened and closed. The downlike hair on the tiny face glistened with sweat.
“Do not be afraid,” said Brenner.
She pulled at his pants’ leg.
“I do not understand,” said Brenner.
“If it was a pet ferric, you’d understand,” said Rodriguez. “She wants you to go with her.”
“It is all right,” said Brenner to the other Pons, several of which were on the ascent, and several