"More gnomes," Gallifa told MacFarland. "I wonder if they're ecologically basic?" He addressed Hawkins. "Gnomes are exactly what I called them, but I'm quite sure there were never such gnomes on Earth. What do you mean by colony? Like a village?"
"No," Hawkins said slowly. "Not that. Maybe I don't mean colony. They just sort of hang around and eat together. They don't have any dwellings, or anything like that. At least, none that I could see," he amended.
Gallifa wasn't sure why he sighed with relief. At least his hypothesis wasn't spoiled. They were clannish. But hell, rabbits were clannish. Herd development wasn't anything more than instinct.
IV
The helijet suddenly swooped around and settled for a landing. It was easy to see how the grounded ship had avoided detection. It was camouflaged almost perfectly—although whether purposely or not wasn't readily discernible.
The space craft wasn't large. Gallifa estimated an eight-man crew, and Hawkins proved him correct. He had found all of them at once. They had been dead a long while; decomposition had been thorough. But Hawkins was right. It did look as if they had killed themselves.
They were scattered haphazardly around an irregular perimeter of the ship, and no two of the bodies were close together. The positions of the skeletons showed that they hadn't been molested by any wild animals—nor had they been killed by any.
But the strange thing—and this to Gallifa was also a senseless thing—was the startling fact that each skeleton had a pellet pistol still firmly clasped in its fleshless hand.
The magazines of all the weapons were either completely discharged or nearly so. Hence it was obvious that they had been firing at each other. But why? If it had been a battle between two rival factions—in itself incredible—Gallifa could have understood to some degree. But these men were all alone. Each of them had obviously been against all the rest. No matter how you looked at it, there wasn't any answer.