"As a matter of fact—"
"Have to get you some real clothes, though. Those city duds don't stand up on 'Dobe."
Retief looked down at the charred, torn and sweat-soaked powder-blue blazer and slacks.
"This outfit seemed pretty rough-and-ready back home," he said. "But I guess leather has its points."
"Let's get on back to camp. We'll just about make it by sundown. And, look. Don't say anything to Lemuel about me thinking you were a Flap-jack."
"I won't, but—"
Potter was on his way, loping off up a gentle slope. Retief pulled off the sodden blazer, dropped it over a bush, added his string tie and followed Potter.
II
"We're damn glad you're here, mister," said a fat man with two revolvers belted across his paunch. "We can use every hand. We're in bad shape. We ran into the Flap-jacks three months ago and we haven't made a smart move since. First, we thought they were a native form we hadn't run into before. Fact is, one of the boys shot one, thinkin' it was fair game. I guess that was the start of it." He stirred the fire, added a stick.