Yet Kimber set the ’copter down without hesitation on a stretch of packed snow not too far from the house. Once down however the pilot made no move to leave the machine.
The house door opened and a man wearing the good farm homespun of an “approved” landsman-another Folley by all outward signs-crossed the yard. For one wild moment Dard was inclined to doubt the man beside him, being still more uneasy when the round plump face of the landsman was thrust close to the window of the ’copter.
Pale blue eyes in a weather-beaten face flicked over them both, and Dard did not miss the fact that they widened a fraction as they passed from Kimber’s impassive face to his flashy uniform. The landsman turned and spat at a hound that approached, showing white teeth and growling.
“Time?” he asked.
“Time,” Kimber returned. “Get moving on tonight if you can, Harmon.”
“Sure we’ve been packin’ some stuff already. Th’ boy’s got th’ road cleared—”
Then those blue eyes slid back to Dard. “Who’s th’ youngster?”
“Nordis’ brother. He got in with the Nordis girl. Lars is dead-raid.”
“Yeah. Heard a rumor they all were-that th’ roundup got ’em. Glad to know that ain’t th’ truth. Well-be seein’ you—”
With a wave of the hand he headed back to the house. And Kimber took them aloft.