Rick's idea was to go through the quadrant of town they were now traversing, until he saw the waterfront on the west. Then they could cross the street that he pictured as the stem of the "T" and turn back toward the mountain, going through the town on the other side. That way, if any trouble developed, they would be only a few yards from the cornfield, and could certainly lose themselves until Zircon and Scotty could come roaring in.
They passed under a lighted house, and through the split bamboo floor laths they could see two men drinking basi, or some other native beverage, from sections of bamboo. Now and then the two men talked in casual, drowsy tones.
Nowhere was there a sign of guards until Rick and Chahda passed completely through the village and emerged under the great branches of a mango tree. Ahead of them was a field of grain, probably millet, and beyond it was the western shore of the island. As they watched, two men walked along the shore toward each other, met, chatted for a moment, then turned and walked away from each other again.
"Guards," Rick said softly. "Walking their patrols along the beach."
It was as he suspected. The two guards, patrolling the beach, could see everything that offered danger by walking from where they had met to points roughly halfway around the island.
"Maybe they see us in the vinta," Chahda whispered. "But maybe they no think much about it."
Rick thought he might be right, but the greater probability was that they hadn't been seen at all, especially if they had approached the shore while the guards were walking toward each other near the western end of the island.
"We'll be a little more cautious on the way back," Rick returned softly.
"Is so," Chahda agreed. "What we do now?"
Rick motioned toward the street that led from the volcano to the western shore. "Cross that and look at the houses on the other side. Come on."