"Wenzi!" he shouted again, at the top of his voice.
The scream was faint. She might have been calling his name. It might have been pure terror.
Arnaud, he thought. Arnaud has taken Wenzi. But why? Why? He was only a tracker, a beater. He couldn't provide for her. He wouldn't dare ravish her, for while there was no penalty for an outworlder, the penalty for an Earthman was severe.
Mulveen, he thought.
Mulveen's idea. Arnaud had never left Mulveen. Arnaud had come following Gilbert—as Mulveen's man. Mulveen knew Wenzi was gone. Mulveen reasoned she had gone to Gilbert, further reasoned that Gilbert would protect her. Mulveen had sent Arnaud for her. And for Gilbert's rifle.
Gilbert was weaponless.
Five thousand credits, he thought. And my life.
Wenzi—in Mulveen's possession. Or, in his possession when the traitor Arnaud brought her back to camp.
I can forget about her. I don't know her. Until last night I thought she was a boy, he told himself. I can flee and find a weapon somewhere.
Even while he told himself this, he was walking back along the trail. Wenzi had trusted him. Wenzi had fled to him at once. She had faith in him. A blind, almost childish faith, even if she hadn't put it in words. She had come, and that was enough.