Trevor got slowly to his feet. There were six of these armed men. Like the girl, they wore loin cloths of white cotton, much frayed, and like her they were burned almost black by a lifetime of exposure to a brutal sun. They were all young, knotted and sinewy from hard labor, their faces grim beyond their years. All bore upon their bodies the scars of talons. And they looked at Trevor with a cold, strange look.
They knew Jen, or most of them did. She called them gladly by name, and demanded, "Hugh. Where is Hugh?"
One of them nodded toward the farther wall. "Up there in the caves. He's all right. Who is this man, Jen?"
She turned to study Trevor.
"I don't know. They were hunting him, too. He came to help me. I couldn't have escaped without him. He killed the hawks. But...." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "He says he came from beyond the mountains. He knows of Earth and speaks our tongue. And when he killed the hawks he smashed the skull of one and took the sun-stone."
All six started at that. And the tallest of them, a young man with a face as bleak and craggy as the rocks around them, came toward Trevor.
"Why did you take the sun-stone?" he asked. His voice held an ugly edge.
Trevor stared at him. "Why the devil do you suppose? Because it's valuable."
The man held out his hand. "Give it to me."
"The hell I will!" cried Trevor furiously. He backed away, just a little, getting set.