Retief pulled him back. "Sit tight and look pleased, Georges. Never give the opposition a hint of your true feelings. Pretend you're a goat lover—and hand me one of your cigars."
The three horsemen pulled up in a churn of chaff and a clatter of pebbles. Georges coughed, batting a hand at the settling dust. Retief peeled the cigar unhurriedly, sniffed, at it and thumbed it alight. He drew at it, puffed out a cloud of smoke and glanced casually at the trio of Aga Kagan cavaliers.
"Peace be with you," he intoned in accent-free Kagan. "May your shadows never grow less."
The leader of the three, a hawk-faced man with a heavy beard, unlimbered his rifle. He fingered it, frowning ferociously.
"Have no fear," Retief said, smiling graciously. "He who comes as a guest enjoys perfect safety."
A smooth-faced member of the threesome barked an oath and leveled his rifle at Retief.
"Youth is the steed of folly," Retief said. "Take care that the beardless one does not disgrace his house."
The leader whirled on the youth and snarled an order. He lowered the rifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.
"Begone, interlopers," he said. "You disturb the goats."