A hundred yards from the base of the rocky wall his feet scraped through black dust, and he came to a stop. Deftly Rolf nested the spinners again in their pack before he set out toward the heaped-up mass of stone blocks that was the wall.
Ten steps he took before an excited voice called out shrilly from the rocks ahead. Rolf's slitted gray eyes narrowed yet more and his hand dropped to the compact expoder machine-gun holstered at his hip. There was the movement of a dark shape behind the screen of vines and ragged bushes.
"Down, Altha," a deeper voice rumbled from above, "it's one of the Enemy."
The voice had spoken in English! Rolf took a step forward eagerly and then doubt made his feet falter. There were Earthmen as well as Frogs among the outlaws. This mysterious world that floated above the cavern floor might be their headquarters.
"But, Mark," the voice that was now unmistakably feminine argued, "he wears the uniform of a patrolman."
"May be a trick." The deep voice was doubtful. "You know their leader, Cannon, wanted you. This may be a trick to join the Outcasts and kidnap you."
The girl's voice was merry. "Come on Spider-legs," she said.
Rolf found himself staring, open-mouthed, at the sleek-limbed vision that parted the bushes and came toward him. A beautiful woman she was, with the long burnished copper of her hair down around her waist, but beneath the meager shortness of the skin tunic he saw that her firm flesh was covered with a fine reddish coat of hair. Even her face was sleek and gleaming with its coppery covering of down.
"Hello, patrol-a-man," she said shyly.