then did it take scent. Yes, the scent was that of the small, eyeless one! Well did the beast recall it. But the trail did not lead back, parallel to the approach, to the string. There seemed but a single trail, where there should have been two, the approaching trail and then, somewhat fresher, of greater insistency, a returning trail. That was odd. The beast turned about, almost frantically, here and there. It detected no signs of a stealthy one. Then, to its surprise, and apprehension, it discovered the trail, which did not return to the village, but ascended the cliffs. The beast looked upward, alarmed, at the heights. “Rodriguez!” screamed Brenner, silently. The beast put its paws against the cliff. The small, eyeless one had, presumably on its hands and knees, feeling its way, ascended the cliff. In an instant the beast had scrambled to the height of the cliff and stood there, looking wildly about. It erected its ears. It distended its nostrils. It became an alert, living web of apprehension. The trail led down, over the edge of the cliff. It looked down, fearing to see a small, crumpled body below. Then, hastily, it hurried down, and, at the foot of the cliff, picked up the trail again. It went across the valley, to the cliffs. Then it went along the cliffs. The small, eyeless one had used them as a guide. It might have taken the small, eyeless one hours to grope his way along the cliffs, but the beast, in moments, had bounded beside them, pausing only an instant, now and again, to confirm the trail. Footprints soon became visible in the mud. Panting, its lungs gasping for breath, it surmounted a rise, and came to the graveyard at the end of the cliffs. In its center, standing as though lost, amongst the grassy knolls, a scarp in its hand, bent over, its robes soaked in the cold rain, shivering, was the small, eyeless one.
“Allan, is that you?” it asked.
“Yes,” said Brenner.
“You did not meet me at the platform!”
“You have not come for months,” said Brenner.
“They would not let me come,” it said.
Brenner was silent.
“I have run away,” it said.
“You should not have done so,” said Brenner.
“I must know!” it said.
Brenner did not respond to this.
“I have stolen a scarp!”
“To what purpose?” asked Brenner.
“That I might use it to kill any who might try to stop me!” it cried. “I tell you I must know, and I will know!”
“You are ill,” said Brenner.
“I am dying,” it said.
“No!” said Brenner.
“Which is the oldest grave?” it asked. The rain now, again, was pouring down. “Tell me!?” it cried. “Tell me!” Brenner was silent.
“Do not let the Pons have the final victory!” it cried.
“We thought that one,” said Brenner, “or perhaps that one.”
“Open it,” said Rodriguez. “Open them both. Open them all.”
“Out here you will die,” said Brenner. He himself shivered. His own fur was soaked with water and the cold wind whistled through it.
“My life is not important,” it cried. “Can you not understand that?”
“It is important to me,” said Brenner.\
“Help me!” it cried.
Brenner shook his great head. The small one, of course, did not see this movement.
“Before I die I would know the truth!”
“To whom will you tell it?” asked Brenner. “To the grass, to the rain, to a beast?”
“Help me!” it cried.
“You cannot stay here,” said Brenner. “You are ill. You will die here.”
“You are only a beast!” it cried. “Go away! Leave me! I do not need you! I do not want you! Go away! Go away!”
Brenner then watched the small figure, in its sopped robes, the rain streaming over its head, bending down, unsteady, half falling, grope about, with its free hand and scarp, and locate the side of a grassy knoll. It then, on the side of this knoll, fell to its knees and begin to gouge at its side with the scarp. In moments the small figure, tiny, frenzied, coughing, was covered with wet grass and mud.
“Emilio,” said Brenner.
“Go away!” shrieked the tiny, high-pitched voice.
Brenner reached down and, turning his head to one side, gently picked up the small figure in its mouth. It struck at him with the scarp, again and again, and Brenner tasted his own blood, running inside the inner, lower lip.
“Let me learn the truth! Let me die!” it begged.
Brenner carried him back to the village and put him down, gently, before the gate. He then withdrew so that the Pons might be more willing, given the