He looked over his shoulder. Somewhere in the night enemies hunted for him. The beast-folk were beneath contempt, would be left alone. Only he had shown himself too dangerous to be allowed life.
"Goodbye, boys," he said, with real regret. "I'm not much of a boss if I bring bullets among you. Get back home, and let me haul out by myself. I mean it," he said sternly, as they hesitated. "On your way, and don't get close to me again—death's catching!"
They tramped away into the gloom, with querulous backward looks. Parr took a lonely trail in an opposite direction. After a moment he paused, tingling with suspense. Heavy feet were following him.
"Who's coming?" he challenged, and ducked to avoid a possible shot. None came. The heavy tread came nearer.
"Boss!" It was Ling.
"I told you to go away," reminded Parr gruffly.
"I not go," Ling retorted. "You no make me."
"Ling, you were boss before I came. Now that I'm gone from you—"
"You not gone from me. You my boss. Those others, they maybe pick new boss."
"Ling, you fool!" Parr put out a hand in the night, and grabbed a mighty shaggy arm. "I'll be hunted—maybe killed—"