The rock had been a good one. The drawer had used it, she supposed, as a sketchbook. It contained pictures which might even have been studies for some of the paintings on the wall.
Old Woman took the rock. She put it back down on the floor of the cave. “It was Drawer’s rock,” she said. “He gave it to me when be went blind. I brought it here, to be with his other paintings.”
Then Old Woman, with the torch, turned about and led the way from the large room. She stopped at the threshold into the narrow passage which had led to the room. “I liked Drawer,” she said.
“Why have you shown me these things?” asked Hamilton.
“Tree is Drawer’s son,” said Old Woman. Then she turned about, and led the way from the room, Hamilton following behind her, following the pool of torchlight cast, moving, on the walls of the passage.
Turtle slightly shifted the weight of the wood on her left shoulder.
The snow was four inches deep. Her breath bung before her face. Under her tunic and jacket she perspired. In the caves, she would, like many of the other women, strip herself, or discard her clothing to the waist. In civilization Hamilton, in the winter, had liked closed rooms and considerable warmth. But, with the Men, she bad come to find overheating and closeness distasteful, and even extremely uncomfortable. Living outdoors had wrought changes in her body chemistry. Temperatures which she might once have found chilly, and which might once have made her miserable, she now found only refreshing, even zestful and stimulating. Her blood, because of the fresh air, was charged with oxygen. She had great vitality and energy. Too, she was aware, as she had never been before, of thousands of subtle gradations and fluctuations in air and temperature. She had become, for the first time in her life, fully alive to the world in which she lived.
Happily, she trudged ahead in the snow, carrying the wood.
Sometimes she found her happiness unaccountable, for was she not only a female slave, as the thongs tied about her neck proclaimed her, forced to labor, subject to the least wishes, and the switches and commands of masters? Yes, but somehow, however unaccountably, she was happy. Never had she been so happy in her life. She began to sing.
Today, this morning, the hunters had taken meat. She could, even from where she trudged through the snow, smell it cooking. Tonight, she knew, she would be well fed. She laughed delightedly. After the singing and dancing she would repay her master well for the meat which he might have deigned to throw her. She would, eagerly, give him fantastic pleasures. “After all,” said she to herself, “a girl must serve her master well.”
She shook her head happily, to hear the shells on the rawhide string that held-back her hair.
Then she, startled, tried to cry out.
The hand closed over her mouth. She felt herself pulled backwards.
Her hands were pulled behind her back. To her astonishment she felt steel close about them, and lock.
“Do not make noise,” said a voice, in English.
Hamilton was turned about, the hand still tightly over her mouth.
Her eyes widened.
“Do not cry out,” said the voice.
Hamilton nodded.
The hand was removed from her mouth.
“Gunther,” she whispered. “William!”
“Has Herjellsen sent you to bring me back?” asked Hamilton.
“You do not seem pleased to see us,” said William.
“No,” said Gunther.
“You are engaged in another phase of the experiments?” asked Hamilton.
“No,” said Gunther.
Hamilton looked at him, puzzled.
The two men wore boots, and heavy coats, and hats. They carried backpacks. Each, over his shoulder, carried a rifle. Gunther wore his Luger, holstered, at his side. William, too, wore a pistol.
“Tell her,” said William.
“Herjellsen has mastered the retrieval problem,” said Hamilton.
The men were silent.
Hamilton clenched her fists in the steel cuffs, confining her hands behind her back.
“Please free me, Gunther,” she said.
“Be quiet,” said Gunther.
Hamilton was silent. She had been well taught to obey men.
“Tell her,” said William.
“I see you have made contact with a human, or humanoid, group,” said Gunther.
“They are human,” said Hamilton.
“What is your status among them?” asked Gunther.
“That of other women,” said Hamilton.
“And what is that?” asked Gunther.
“Slave,” said Hamilton.
“Excellent,” said Gunther. “I like female slaves.”
“These men are dangerous,” said Hamilton.
Gunther slapped the holster at his right hip. “We do not fear savages,” he said.
“These men are hunters,” said Hamilton. “And sometime you must sleep.”
We come in peace,” smiled Gunther.
“You are strangers,” said Hamilton. “It will be best that you go away.”
Gunther then took her in his arms, and pressed his lips to hers.
When he released her, he looked at her, puzzled, not pleased.
Hamilton backed away from him a step, angry.
“Are you not pleased?” asked Gunther.
“You are a man,” she said, “and can do with me what you wish, of course.”
“Of course,” said Gunther.
“You must understand, however,” said she, “that I am not the same female who groveled before you in Rhodesia.”
“What is the difference?” asked Gunther.
“I have been in the arms of hunters,” she said.
Gunther whipped the pistol from its holster. “This is mightier than your hunters,” he said.
“Please free me,” asked Hamilton.
“Kneel,” said Gunther.
Hamilton did so.
“Put your head down,” said Gunther.
Hamilton, kneeling in the snow, complied.
“When it pleases me,” said Gunther, “I will teach you to forget your hunters.”
The primitive woman, Turtle, one of the slave females of the Men, smiled.
Gunther struck her brutally to the snow.
“Do you speak the language of these hunters?” asked William.
“Yes,” said Hamilton.
“On your knees again,” said Gunther, “head down.”
Hamilton complied.
“You may conjecture our situation,” said William.
“Be silent,” said Gunther to William.
“There is little to be gained by force,” said William.
“I shall do the speaking,” said Gunther.
“Very well,” said William.
“Brenda,” said Gunther.
Hamilton lifted her head.
“We are interested in making contact with a human group. You have apparently already done so. You will be our instrument of communication. You will lead us to this group, and make our demands known to them.”
“These men are dangerous,” said Hamilton. “It would be better that you go away.”
“If we go away,” said Gunther, “we will take you with us.”
Hamilton was silent.
“Does that not please you?” asked William.
“No,” said Hamilton.
“We may take you with us whether you wish it or not,” said Gunther.
“Of course,” said Hamilton, “but I would not do so. It may not be easy to keep me.”
“What do you mean?” asked Gunther. “Do you think you could escape?”
“Quite possibly not,” admitted Hamilton.
“What then do you mean?” asked Gunther.
“You will be followed, and, I would suppose, killed.” She looked at him, unafraid. “These men are hunters,” she said. “Their senses are incredibly keen. They are like eagles and dogs. They can see details that you, even with your fine vision, would require a telescope to discern. They can, like dogs or wolves, follow a trail by smell. They run with swiftness, and the wind of horses. They would follow you and in the end catch you. Then, I expect, they would kill you.”