The sheep began to bleat madly and run about in circles, as first Segador, then Hall, dropped into their pasture. Segador broke free of his silk, ran over to help the American. "Careful," he said. "With so many sheep, there must be a herder around. Let me do the talking."
A man in a woolly sheepskin cape was following a cautious sheep dog toward the spot where they stood. He carried a rifle.
Segador allowed the shepherd to approach to within fifty feet. "Hola!" he called. "We have disturbed your flock."
The shepherd said something to his dog, continued advancing slowly toward the two men from the sky.
"He is afraid we might be Germans," Segador said. "They hate the Germans worse than the devil in the country."
"Who are you?" The shepherd was now quite close to them. Hall could see at once that he was a Basque.
"Vasco?" Hall asked. He poured out a stream of Basque greetings. They served only to put the shepherd more on his guard.
"I saw you fall from the skies—like quintacolumnistas."
"That is true, compañero," Segador said. "But we are not fifth columnists."
"Are you of the Republic?"