"It's a chance," Sears Oliphant said in a level, careful voice. "Doc knows what he's doing. Ed, you should know you can't stop him."
Wright was pointing to Paul's bandaged shoulder and to the giant's wound. The high furred forehead puckered in obvious effort. Dorothy was choking on a word or two: "Doc—must you—"
"He knows we're friends. He's been watching a long time. He saw Paul get hurt and then bandaged." The giant's trembling was only a spasmodic shuddering. "Man—man...." Wright snipped off gauze. "And he knows that thing is a weapon, Ed. Will you put it away?"
"He could break you in two. You know that, don't you?"
"But he won't. Give protoplasm a chance." Now Wright was winding gauze lightly, firmly, hiding the already clotting blood, and the giant made no move of rejection. "Man—man."
"Man." The giant murmured it cautiously, prolonging the vowel; he touched his chest. "Essa kana." A finger ran exploringly over the gauze.
"Essa kana—man," said Wright, and swayed on his feet.
The giant pointed at the bloody mess on the ground and rumbled: "Kawan." He shuddered, and his arm swept in a loose gesture that appeared to indicate the curving quarter mile where lake and jungle met each other in a black-water marsh. Then he was staring out, muttering, at the wings in the meadow, and presently he touched Paul's bandage with fantastic lightness. "Omasha," he said, pointing at the flying beasts. He indicated the rifle wobbling in Sears' arm and held up two fingers. "Omasha."
"Yes, we killed two omasha. Sears-man. Paul-man. Wright-man."
The giant rumpled his chest fur. "Mijok."