“If any one can-you will,” Cully spoke from the cylinder he was dismantling. “Ever notice, Sim,” he continued, “how this kid gets around? I’ll wager he could walk through the grain field and not make a sound or leave a trail another could follow. How’d you ever learn that useful trick, fella?”
Dard was sober. “The hard way, living as an outlaw. You know, those hoppers are awful pests, but I can’t help admiring them.”
Kimber snorted. “Why? Because they know what they want and go after it? They are single-minded, aren’t they? Only I wish they were a little more timid. They should be more like the duck-dogs, willing to watch us, but keeping their distance. Cut along, kid, and get that finger seen to right away. Working hours aren’t over yet.”
Dard traced Carlee Skort to where she was busy fitting up the small dispensary, a niche in the wall of the second cave, and had his bite sterilized and bandaged with plasta-skin.
“Hoppers!” She shook her head. “I don’t know what we’re going to do to discourage them. They stole Trude’s little paring knife yesterday and three spools of thread.”
He could understand her dismay over these losses. Little things, yes-but articles which could not be replaced.
“Luckily they appear to be afraid to come into the caves. So far we haven’t caught any of them inside. But they are the most persistent and accomplished thieves I have ever seen. Dard, when you go out, stop in the kitchen and pick up a lunch for your working crew. Trude should have the packets made up by now.
He obediently made his way past work gangs into the other small cave room where Trude Harmon with an assistant was setting out stacks of plastic containers. The rich scent which filled the air tickled Dard’s nose and made him very aware of hunger. It had been hours and hours since breakfast!
“Oh, it’s you,” Trude greeted him. “How many in your gang?”
“Three.”