You aimin' to await the dawn?"
"You," I said, "said it!"
* * * * *
The dawn came up nice and quiet. Blackness turned gray and then apearl pink--and there she was: a hundred yards from us, of somegleaming metal resembling aluminum, twenty feet high and coveringabout as much ground as a caretaker's cottage. It resembled nothingmore than a soup plate turned bottom up to dry.
A tall, semi-circular opening showed black in one side, with a slopingmetallic ramp reaching from it to the ground. Two robots guarded theentrance, stiff and towering and without movement, the early lightglistening along their jointed bodies.
In sharp contrast to this scene from the distant future was theanachronistic spectacle of six Indians, in war paint, fringedbuckskin and stripped to the waist, squatting around a small cookingfire near the ship. Within easy reach of each was a long bow and aquiver of arrows.
Nothing about them gave me a certain clue as to which Indian familythey belonged to. The single feather in each scalp lock was pure whitewith a vivid red tip. Two of them wore the black paint of untriedwarriors, and all were gnawing on strips of meat grilled over thefire.
Wetzel, placid and silent, leaned on his rifle and calmly stuffed acheek with a twist of black tobacco. "Reckon they be a little hard totalk to?" he asked in a soft voice.
I shrugged. "Only one way I know of to find out."
"Thet fancy pistol you got could kill 'em all afore they get them bowsunlimbered."
"Are you suggesting I shoot them down without warning?"
It was his turn to shrug. "They be Indians."
The complete lack of feeling in his tone infuriated me. "Youcold-blooded bastard! I happen to be a good part Indian myself."
He eyed me without expression but with a chill glitter to his eyes."Aye. I ain't forgettin' thet," he said, and spat.
I took a slow breath and waited until I could trust my voice. "I'mgoing out there," I said quietly. "Cover me with your gun. But don'tuse it _unless_ it's the only thing left to do. I don't want thattrigger pulled until the last possible second. They may grab me, theymay even knock me around a little. That I can take. But don't try tointerfere until there's no other way out. Is that clear?"
"Aye."
I turned away from him. All I had to do now was step out from behindthat tree and walk across the open ground. Each of my feet suddenlyweighed a ton. Two steps into that clearing and the funeral could beMonday. Instinctively my hand crawled toward the .38 automatic hiddenin my coveralls. It never got that far. Suicide was so final.
Wetzel's firm young mouth held an almost invisible sneer. DeliberatelyI took out a cigarette, lighted it with an airy gesture and a match,dragged deeply on it twice and threw it away. I said, "Lay off thatgun like I told you," and walked slowly out into the clearing.
* * * * *
It got a rise out of them, all right. They were on their feet, arrowsnotched, before I had traveled three feet. I never even hesitated.Once I had gone this far, the bluff had to be carried all the way out.I kept my spine stiff, my head erect, my hands conspicuously empty atmy sides. If my nerves were jumping I was the only one who knew aboutit.
It caught them just a shade off-balance, which was all I had hopedfor. The one-sidedness of six drawn bows against one unimpressive andunarmed man eventually registered and the flint tips wavered, thenturned aside.
The tallest of the braves--a lean number the color of an oldpenny--tossed his bow aside and deliberately stepped squarely in mypath. There was an insolent arrogance in every line of his body--abody that topped my six feet a full three inches.
I said, "Hi-yo, Silver," and put my hip into his naked belly andgrabbed his arm and threw him over my shoulder. He hit face first twoyards away and plowed up a furrow of grass, flopped around a little,then lay still.
Nobody else moved, except me. I started for the spaceship again, nothurrying and not crawling, head still up, spine still stiff, eyesstraight ahead. Feet slithered in the grass behind me and the soundmade the skin between my shoulder blades twitch like an aching tooth.Every instinct that had anything to do with self-preservation wasfighting to make me turn around.
That was when the robots moved. They seemed to come alive at the sameinstant, metal clanged on metal as they strode stiffly down the rampto meet me. Violence hung over them as it hangs over a Patton tank.
Every step toward them was like pulling my foot out of quicksand. Onlytwelve kinds of a cretin would have gone on when faced with anythinglike this. I went on. I couldn't do anything else. Once you show anIndian a molecule of cowardice, you're twelve lines on the obituarypage.
The space between us was down to a narrow ribbon of grass by thistime. Four--three more steps and I would _have_ to stop. Nobody couldpush aside a couple of tons of animated steel. Metal arms were liftingslowly, preparing to close on me. Inside me a silent voice screamed aprayer for Wetzel to pull that trigger and pump a bullet into one ofthose round, staring, faceted eyes....
The robots seemed to go dead. They hung there motionless, arms lifted,each with a massive foot caught in midstride.
What had stopped them at the last possible second I had no way oftelling. All I did know was a sudden release of tension that left mewith just enough strength to keep my feet moving.
I went on.
* * * * *
The edge of the ramp was getting uncomfortably close. I was here tosee the head man, but I would prefer to see him out in the open. Thethought of walking into that black hole left me as cold as a barefootEskimo.
The ramp. It was a good six feet wide, made of what seemed to be someform of an aluminum alloy, and was waiting to be walked on. I startedup its shallow slope, the rubber soles of my basketball shoessoundless on the smooth surface.
He appeared suddenly, without warning, in the doorway. He was quitetall, slim in the hips, and his naked shoulders seemed almost as wideas the opening. Elaborate beadwork designs had been worked into thebuckskin breeches, and his headdress resembled a Sioux warbonnet, itstwin rows of red-tipped feathers hanging almost to his moccasins. Ahunting knife hung in a snake-skin sheath at his right hip. He was asgauntly handsome as a Blackfoot--and they don't come anybetter-looking than that.
He stood there, arms folded across his chest, looking as immovable asPike's Peak. This time I stopped. My back was as stiff as his, my headas erect, my shoulders as square if not as wide. For a long time westood that way staring straight into each other's eyes, ourexpressions blank, our tongues locked.
When enough time had passed for me to open the conversation withoutbeing accused of impetuousness, I said, "I am Long Rock, of thePotawatomi. I have come in peace, to hold counsel with you."
My words, in the language of the Delaware because of Wetzel's earlierremark, had no immediate effect, which was par for the course with anyIndian. Not even his eyelids moved. The silence went on, building intotension. Anyone unfamiliar with the ways of the Indian would havetaken another stab at it. I knew better. I had made my pitch; now itwas strictly up to him.
Finally his strong lips came unstuck. "I am Lo-as-ro, War Chief of theKornesh." It was the Delaware tongue, all right, but with inflexionsand nuances strange to me. "How is it that your skin is white but youspeak in the way of the Orbiwah?"
That last word, I judged, was what the Indian in general was calledwherever this specimen had come from. I said, "In my blood is theblood of the Orbiwah. That is why I am here, sent by the Great Chiefof all white men."
We squatted down facing each other on the ramp. At once a young bravebrought out a long, elaborately carved peace-pipe. Lo-as-ro put thebit to his mouth and puffed smoke toward the four cardinal points ofthe compass, then passed the pipe to me. The tobacco was far morearomatic than any I had come across before.
With the amenities out of the way, the Chief said, "Why has the WhiteChief sent you to me?"
"To welcome you to the land of the white man."
"
I come not to the land of the white man in peace."
My eyes were as cold as his own. "This we do not understand. The whiteman has no quarrel with the tribe of Kornesh."
"The white man," Lo-as-ro said sonorously, "has taken from the Orbiwahhis land and his home. He has driven the Orbiwah into small areas. Hehas killed buffalo and the bison and the deer, leaving the Orbiwah toeat the meat of the horse or to starve. The Orbiwah has been made foulwith the diseases of the white man."
"All this," I said, "was long, long ago. Perhaps it was not right, butit is the way of life that the strong prevail and the weak perish."
His expression darkened. "You say this--you with the blood of theOrbiwah in your veins?"
"I speak only true words, noble Lo-as-ro. The white men are in numberas the leaves of the forest, the