"Yes, sir, what'll it be?"
Kirk's eyes searched the rack of unfamiliar bottles. He shook his head. "You pick it. Something strong and short."
"Yes, sir, some fine old whisky right here." Whisky—well, he'd heard of that. He drank it, and didn't like it. He let his eyes rest on the other man. Could one of them be Ferdias' agent?
He didn't think so. Most of these men looked like farmers or mechanics, hearty-looking, sunburned men, the younger ones tall and gangling. One was a very old man with a straggling beard who shamelessly stared at Kirk with bright, beady eyes. They weren't unfriendly, but they were aloof. Kirk had an idea he'd get little out of this insular bunch. He might as well go—none of these could be Ferdias' man.
But as he set his glass down, the bearded old man limped forward, peering bright-eyed and inquisitive at him.
"You're the fellow who was asking directions to the old Kirk place today," he said, almost accusingly.
Kirk nodded. "That's right."
The old Earthman was obviously waiting for an explanation. It occurred to Kirk that he'd better give one, if he didn't want this whole countryside wondering audibly why a starman had come here.
He said, "Kirk's my name. My great-great something grandfather, a long time ago, came from here. I'm just looking up the old place, that's all."