So now here we were at the outer reaches of the Baldric, four travelers on foot with only the barest necessities in the way of equipment and supplies.
I walked forward to get a closer view of one of the flagpole trees. And then abruptly I saw something else.
A queer-looking bird squatted there in the sand, looking up at me. Silver in plumage, it resembled a parrot with a crest; and yet it didn't. In some strange way the thing was a hideous caricature.
"Look what I found," I yelled.
"What I found," said the cockatoo in a very human voice.
"Thunder, it talks," I said amazed.
"Talks," repeated the bird, blinking its eyes.
The cockatoo repeated my last statement again, then rose on its short legs, flapped its wings once and soared off into the sky. Xartal, the Martian illustrator, already had a notebook in his hands and was sketching a likeness of the creature.
Ten minutes later we were on the move again. We saw more silver cockatoos and more flagpole trees. Above us, the great disc of Jupiter began to descend toward the horizon.