About a week later, Duncan was on his way over to the big village near here, to give his Tarchik kids another arithmetic lesson, I suppose. Old Stancha—he was the local religious big shot, a kind of High Priest—threw a spear from the bushes, Tarchik fashion, and nailed Duncan very neatly. Nailed, yes. That's the way we found him, with his back against a tree.
Just another case of a man's foolishness catching up with him. But Duncan hasn't stopped giving us trouble yet, dead or not. First thing that happened was that old Stancha came in to the post, demanding to be executed. He claimed he'd made a big mistake killing Duncan, the biggest mistake of his life. I never could figure out what he meant—it seemed to have something to do with what Duncan said to him just before he died.
Well, if Stancha had kept his mouth shut, we'd have had no case at all, which would have been just fine with me. I was Agent, in Duncan's place, and I was out to see to it that business stayed good and got better. Can't annoy the natives by executing their high priest and expect good trade. But I couldn't very well let Stancha go, either, once he'd confessed. So I had him tried, all proper and correct, and executed him in due form.
Next thing I knew, the Tarchiks were putting Kachan back together again. They were all up there, building a great big new version, and having a first class party at the same time. These parties generally lead to a tail-hunting expedition, so I expected some trouble. But it didn't, this time.
There was plenty of noise, though. The Tarchiki never do anything quietly, and this seemed to be an occasion. What with drums, bagpipes, wailing and howling, there wasn't a bird would roost for twenty miles around.
When they got all through, I went up to look over the new statue, out of curiosity, and because I'd heard that they hadn't sacrificed a single pup. I thought there must be something queer about Kachan Number Two. There was.
It was Duncan. They'd given him a tail, and he looked more like a Tarchik than an Earthman, but the face was unmistakable. They aren't half bad carvers, you know; and they'd really spread themselves this time. The thing was forty feet tall, and it stood on a rock platform, with some words carved in that lettering Duncan had taught them to use. The words were something Duncan was supposed to have said as he was dying.
I never could read that stuff really well; all I got out of the thing was that Duncan was forgiving the old murderer, because he didn't know what he was doing. Pure nonsense, of course, but you don't expect a dying man to make sense, and particularly not Duncan. But it seems those words were what had caused all the to-do.
I found the story in one of those ballads Duncan had collected. Seems that the Tarchiki had been expecting a great teacher to show up, who'd do all sorts of wonderful things for them. Nothing unusual; all primitives have some story like that. But there was something else.
The idea was that if the Tarchiki listened to this teacher, he'd make them the most important people in the whole world; in the universe, in fact, from the way the thing sounded. Just how, wasn't specified. But if they should let him be killed, they would know who he had been because of his last words, forgiving them. Naturally, they fitted Duncan right in; forgiving anybody would be the least likely idea in any Tarchik's mind if he were being speared.