The man who entered was short and almost as broad as he was tall. But sturdy muscle, not fat, thickened his shoulders and pillared his arms and legs. He wore the faded uniform of a Free Scientist with the flaming sword of First Rank still to be picked out on the breast. His eyes and broad cheek bones had Tartar contour and Dard believed that he was not a native of the land in which he now lived.
“Well, and now you are awake, oh?” he smiled at Dard.
“We have been waiting for you to open those eyes—and that mouth of yours—young man. What word do you bring from Lars Nordis?”
Dard could hesitate about telling the full truth no longer.
“I don’t know whether I have anything or not. The night the roundup gang came Lars said he had finished his job—”
“Good!” Tas Kordov actually clapped his hands.
“But when we had to clear out he didn’t lay to bring any papers with him—”
Kordov’s face was avid as if he would drag what he wanted out of Dard by force. “But he gave to you some message—surely he gave some message!”
“Only one thing. And I don’t know how important that may be. I’ll have to have something to write on to explain properly.”
“Is that all?” Kordov pulled a notebook out of his breeches’ pocket and flipped it open to a blank page, handing it to him with an inkless stylus. Dard, equipped with the tools, began the explanation which neither of these men might believe.