"Poacher camp here," he explained bleakly. "And they know about us."
"A perfect end to a stinking day," remarked Tau dispassionately. "We
might have guessed something of this sort was waiting." He tried to rub
away some of the dried clay coating his chin. "But do poachers use
drums?"
The Chief Ranger scowled. "That is what Nymani has gone to find out."
VII
Darkness closed in while they waited for Nymani's return. There had been
no further attack from the blaster wielder; perhaps he was only trying
to pin them down where they were. Out over the swamp, weird patches of
phosphorescence moved in small ghostly clouds, and bright dots of
insects with their own built-in lighting systems flashed spark-fashion
or sailed serenely on regular flight plans. At night the wonder of the
place was far removed from the squalid reality of the day. They chewed
on their rations, drank sparingly of the water, and tried to keep alert
to any sight or sound.
That monotonous undertone, which might or might not be drums, continued
as a basic hum to the noises of the night, drowned out at intervals by a
splash, a mutter or cry from some swamp creature.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101