The Loper's gaze traveled from the human to its own weapons. It tried to shift toward them, but the attempt was aborted by the pain that promptly shot through the thin body. Jachal studied the injured leg. Possibly a bad sprain, more likely a break, he decided.
He hesitated, his thoughts churning. His odds for surviving the necessary weeks alone in the Veldt were very poor. He knew that as surely as did the locals who'd permitted him to flee into it. Here might be a chance, just a chance, to improve those odds markedly. If he was gambling wrong, well, at least he wouldn't have to worry anymore.
It took time for him to gain the Loper's trust. He began by feeding it, pushing food within reach of those gangly arms and then backing off to watch. It took more time before the native would let him touch the damaged leg. The angle of the break had prevented the Loper from trying to make repairs of its own.
Eventually Jachal managed to get it splinted, using parasitic vines to tie the dead grass stalks to the leg. With his aid, the Loper succeeded m standing up. Despite its height, its weight was not great. Throughout the entire process it had not uttered a sound.
As the leg healed, man and Loper had time to examine each other. Lopers healed fast. They had to, living nomadic lives on the ever-dangerous Veldt.
Fighting between settlers and Lopers had been nearly continuous since the first farm had been established on Dakokraine some fifty years before. Despite the fact that they were armed only with the most primitive weapons, the Lopers fought hard and had become a real menace. Built like hyperactive giraffes, they could run at speeds close to seventy miles per hour in short bursts and could maintain a steady pace of thirty to forty for an unknown length of time. Their natural coloring permitted them to become part of the landscape, and they were damned clever. A man caught out in a field, no matter how heavily armed, was as good as dead if the Lopers found him.
Only the expensive electric fences could keep them out of populated areas. Even so, they occasionally penetrated a field or two. Harvesting had to be carried out under guard, in armored reapers with air cars riding overhead. The expansion of the great farms was slowed but not stopped. Attempts to forge a truce were few and ineffective. The fighting continued. The Lopers absolutely refused to allow a new farm to be established without contesting it strongly. Such battles inevitably resulted in a number of dead Lopers and a dead settler or two. But once a fence had been set in place and charged up, the Lopers were forced to retreat.
The deaths of the Lopers did not trouble the settlers. Not one whit. Only a few bleeding-heart xenologists grieved over the casualties.
What the farmers couldn't understand was the Lopers' persistence. Dakokraine was still ninety-nine percent theirs. There was plenty of room for settler and Loper slake. Then why did they oppose the occasional new farm so strenuously?
Just ornery, the settlers thought. They just like to fight. Well, we know how to fight, too.
And, of course, the fighting continued.
Eventually the injured Loper's tribe found him. Jackal was not upset by the appearance of the three dozen or so warriors and their families. He'd been counting on it. Pulling his knife, he made a show of laying it down and moving back from it. Then he calmly waited for whatever might follow.
The Loper whose leg he'd set ignored him, delighted to be among his own people again. When the greetings had concluded, a few warriors came over to stare down at Jackal. No one made a sign of thanks; no one offered him back his knife.
But-they did not kill him. Not yet.
They settled down on the rocks, the children playing solemn games of hide-and-seek among the surrounding grasses, the females preparing food, the males engaging in an energetic discussion that seemed to have Jackal as its focal point. For his part, Jackal contributed an occasional imploring look whenever he could catch a vast, golden eye looking over at him. It had no effect on the argument.
Finally the group broke up. One large male, who in addition to loincloth and pouch had several necklaces of bone dangling from his long neck, approached. Jackal tensed. The warrior was fifteen feet tall and unusually muscular for a Loper.
It showed him an empty backpack and made gestures indicating that Jackal was to climb inside.
He frowned but saw no good in arguing. There wasn't a thing he could do about it if they chose to stuff him into the sack by force. So he climbed in, settled himself gingerly, and waited.
Then he was flying through the air in a short arc. He readied himself for the expected smashing against the rocks. It didn't come. Instead, he found himself settled against the Loper's furry back. Straps appeared, were used to bind him into the sack to keep him from falling out. Or from escaping.
The Lopers muttered among themselves, and Jackal listened intently in hopes of picking up a word or two. He was bobbing about against his captor's back, twelve feet above the ground. The Loper language was smooth and sharp, like an angry Polynesian's.
Then he was flying, or so it seemed. The tribe, having broken its brief camp, was moving out into the Veldt.
Stiltlike legs ate up the ground with long, effortless strides, dodging taller grasses with ease; dashing over shorter ones. The wind rushed past the passenger's face as he considered his position.
They had not slain him immediately. It was known that the Lopers were resourceful. Perhaps they were keeping him alive for tomorrow's lunch. The Lopers were omnivores, like most humanoids. At this point nothing would surprise him, including the possibility that the male whose leg he'd repaired had been designated to do the carving.
What did surprise him was when the tribe halted for the night next to a free-flowing stream hidden by twenty five-foot-tall blue-green stalks and his towering captor looked down at him and asked, 'Why midget come alone to the Veldt?'
In all his encounters and conversations with settlers, not once had Jachal heard them mention the possibility that the Lopers could understand human speech, much less use it. But then, Lopers and men did not sit down in conference to detail to each other their respective abilities. The few attempts at peacemaking had been performed by human xenologists utilizing the Loper tongue. Verily were the Lopers a clever folk.
The fact that they had revealed this knowledge to him was a sure sign they had no intention of letting him go.
'Why come midget alone to Veldt?' the giant repeated.
'I was compelled to,' he found himself answering. 'It was important to me.' He forbore from giving details. Most primitive tribal societies understood and did not sympathize with murder.
'Lone midget, by self, far out from skylegs or multicaves. Not understand compelled to. Why?'
Jachal was very tired. He was confused, and the strain of wondering when someone's flense was going to remove his head had begun to addle him slightly.
'I was running,' he explained, 'I've run all my life, and this was Just one more time I had to run. I don't suppose you can understand that.'
Of exhaustion and confusion are fortuitous remarks sometimes born. Misinterpretation, become thy savior . . . or was it misinterpretation?
Jachal did not have the strength to consider this at the time. All he knew was that his reply set off an extremely violent discussion among the members of the tribe. A few seemed close to coming to blows. Seven-foot- tall infants cowered is the grass.
Finally the giant in charge of Jachal came back to stare down at him.
'Midget live for a time. Elders find it interesting. Later more talk.'
'Sure, I love to talk. Listen, while we're talking, could you take me to Reshkow?' He tried to describe the location of the nearest town other than Embresca .that possessed an airport. If he could actually manage to reach Reshkow, he could easily get aboard a local transport, make it to a city, get off this . . .
'No go near multicaves of midgets for ourselves. Surely not for midget. Stay you with us. Elders find it interesting.
And that was that. But Jachal did not give up hope. 'It,' meaning he, was found interesting. Later more talk. That was far more promising than later become meal.
'How did you learn human . . . midget . . . speech?' he asked his captor.
