Waking one morning, he was startled to find that a fire had been built and there was an odor of scorching meat. Erect in one bound, he stared incredulously at the other man who was nonchalantly making free with his camp.
"Kinda surprised—eh?"
For a moment, Marlin did not know the long-haired, bearded, skin-clad stranger. He peered uncertainly.
"You're—you're DuChane, aren't you?"
"The old maestro himself," grinned the other. "Came across your trail two days ago. Campfires—footprints. Nearly caught up with you last night, but the dark overtook me. Guess we're the sole survivors."
"No," Marlin told him. "Maw Barstow and Link—I ran across them back there." He waved an arm vaguely.
"Maw and Slinky Link!" DuChane laughed uproariously. "That's good. Is the little shrimp still balmy?"
Marlin scratched his head. "I'd forgotten that. Guess he got over it, in a way. They've got a kid—and a cow. Kicked me out on my ear."
It was good to have companionship. Talking things over made things clearer. For one thing, he hadn't been able to understand at all how he came to be wandering over the face of this strange planet. "Last thing I remember was struggling with someone—and the ooze closing over. Then I found myself stumbling along this coastline."
DuChane stared. "Don't you know?"