The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

covering camouflage, the watchers had come out of the woods at last. A line of them were walking quietly and upright towards the humans, their blue-green fuzz covering like a mist under the direct rays of the sun. Quiet as they seemed at present, the things out of the Jumalan forest were a picture of sheer brute strength as they moved.
    “Let’s get out of here—fast!”
    The men kept moving, and always after them padded that silent line of green-blue, pushing them farther and farther away from the safari camp, on towards the rising mountain peaks. Just as the globes had shaken the scavengers loose from their meal and sent them marching on, so were the humans being herded for some unknown purpose.
    At least, once the march of the beasts began, they saw and heard no more of the globes. And as they reached a curve in the river, Hume stopped, swung around, stood studying the line of decorously pacing animals.
    “We can pick them off with the needler or the ray.”
    The Hunter shook his head. “You don’t kill,” he recited the credo of his Guild, “not until you are sure. There is a method behind this, and method means intelligence.”
    Handling of X-tee creatures and peoples was a part of Guild training. In spite of his devious game here on Jumala, Hume was Guild educated and Rynch was willing to leave such decisions to him.
    The other held out the ray tube. “Take this, cover me, but don’t use it until I say so. Understand?”
    He waited only for Rynch’s nod before he started, at a deliberate pace which matched that of the beasts, back through the river shallows to meet them. But that advancing line halted, stood waiting in silence. Hume’s hands went up, palm out, he spoke slowly in Basic-X-Tee clicks:
    “Friend.” This was all Rynch could make out of that sing-song of syllables Rynch knew to be a contact pattern.
    The dark eye pits continued to stare. A light breeze ruffled the fuzz covering of wide shoulders, long muscular arms. Not a head moved, not one of those heavy, rounded jaws opened to emit any answering sound. Hume halted. The silence was threatening, a portending atmosphere spread from the alien things as might a tangible wave.
    For perhaps two breaths they stood so, man facing alien. Then Hume turned, walked back, his face set. Rynch offered him the ray tube.
    “Fight our way out?”
    “Too late. Look!”
    Moving lines of blue-green coming down to the river. Not five or six now—a dozen—twenty. There was a small trickle of moisture down the side of the Hunter’s brown face.
    “We’re penned—except straight ahead.”
    “But we’re going to fight!” Rynch protested.
    “No. Move on!”
    CHAPTER 7
    It was some time before Hume found what he wanted, an islet in midstream lacking any growth and rising to a rough pinnacle. The sides were seamed with crevices and caves which promised protection for one’s back in any desperate struggle. And they had discovered it none too soon, for the late afternoon shadows were lengthening.
    There had been no attack, just the trailing to herd the men to the northeast. And Rynch had lost the first tight pinch of panic, though he knew the folly of underestimating the unknown.
    They climbed with unspoken consent, going clear to the top, where they huddled together on a four-foot tableland. Hume unhooked his distance lenses, but it was toward the rises of the mountains that he aimed them, not along the back trail.
    Rynch wriggled about, studied the river and its banks. The beasts there were quiet, blue-green lumps, standing down on the river bank or squatting in the grass.
    “Nothing.” Hume lowered the lenses, held them before his broad chest as he still watched the peaks.
    “What did you expect?” Rynch snapped. He was hungry, but not hungry enough to abandon the islet.
    Hume laughed shortly. “I don’t know. Only I’m sure they are heading us in that direction.”
    “Look here,” Rynch rounded on him. “You know this planet, you’ve been here before.”
    “I was one of the survey team that approved it for the Guild.”
    “Then you must have combed it pretty thoroughly. How is it that you didn’t know about them?” He gestured to their pursuers.
    “That is what I would like to ask a few assorted experts right about now,” Hume returned. “The verifiers registered no intelligent native life here.”
    “No native life.” Rynch chewed that over, came up with the obvious explanation. “All right—so then maybe our blue-backed