They had been. Calhoun saw that inimitable green which a man somehow always recognizes. It is the green of plants whose ancestors throve on Earth and have followed that old planet's children halfway across the galaxy.
"The population must be practically nothing," growled Calhoun, "because it doesn't show. But the part of it in the city wants to keep whatever's happened from the Med Service. Hm-m-m. They're not dying, or they'd want help. But at least one dead man wasn't in the city where he belonged, and he could have used some help! Maybe there are more like him."
Murgatroyd said,
"Chee!"
"If there are two kinds of people here," added Calhoun darkly, "they might be—antagonistic to each other."
He stared with knitted brows over the vast expanse toward the horizon. Murgatroyd had halted a little behind him. He stood up on his hind legs and stared intently off to one side. He shaded his eyes with a forepaw in a singularly humanlike fashion and looked inquisitively at something he saw. But Calhoun did not notice.
"Make a guess, Murgatroyd," said Calhoun. "There are at least a few people in the city who don't want something known to the Med Service. So whatever's the matter, it's not fatal to them. There may be people wandering about like that poor devil we found. Something was fatal to him! Where'd we find more of his type? Since they haven't tried to kill me, we might make friends."
Murgatroyd did not answer. He stared absorbedly at a patch of underbrush some fifty yards to the left.
Calhoun shrugged and started down the hillside. Murgatroyd remained fixed in a pose of intensely curious attention to the patch of brush. Calhoun went on down the farther hillside. His back was toward the brush-thicket.