MacFarland was hard to convince. "Maybe they didn't kill each other," he insisted. "How do you know those creatures—gnomes, as you call them—didn't attack the ship?"
"If you had ever been close to a gnome," Gallifa answered wearily, "you'd have your answer. I can't guess why, but these men killed themselves, beyond any possible doubt."
"Then they must have gone completely crazy," MacFarland said stubbornly. "Every last one of them."
Gallifa frowned as he remembered Bradshaw. Crazy? Could it be possible that the crew of this ship had stumbled on something which had driven them into insanity? Psychologically, Gallifa couldn't discount an idea simply because it seemed impossible. A newly established colony was a fragile thing.
"While we are here," Gallifa said, "let's take a closer look at that colony of gnomes. I think I noticed something from the air which doesn't jibe with our first impression of them."
The three men climbed a little hillock, and Gallifa carefully studied the area in front of him. He finally shook his head in bafflement.
"This is an unbelievably screwy planet. These creatures apparently haven't reached any stage of development higher than the herd instinct, and yet they are farming. It doesn't make any kind of sense. The species is completely out of character."
MacFarland looked at the virgin growth below him, and shook his head. "That's a farm?" he asked sarcastically.
Gallifa grinned. "You would have to be a biologist to catch on," he explained. "See that yellowish bush? The one with the purple blossoms? Now look at the area directly in front of us. Not a single bush. If you will look carefully you will find several types of plant life which are growing freely everywhere except in the area I showed you. The gnomes are allowing only the plants they want to grow in the area.
"Perhaps they aren't exactly farming," he elaborated. "That is, they may not be planting anything in an orderly fashion. But they are cultivating. And it all adds up to the same thing. They are increasing an edible crop by eliminating—well, weeds. And if they can do that, they should have a corresponding cultural development.