penetrated several hundred yards into the spruce. A black
hulk lay ahead in a small clearing.

"Yeah," Morgan grunted. "I'd hoped it'd still be there."

She nudged him hard. "Close-mouthed, aren't you?"

"If I told you it was here, and then it was gone--how would you feel?"

"You think about things like that?" She stared at him curiously in the
faint moonlight. "Nobody else does. Not now."

"Come on," he growled. "Let's see if it's occupied."

The door was locked. Morgan chopped it open without ceremony. The
cabin was vacant except for a corpse on the floor. The corpse was of
ancient vintage and slightly mummified. He noticed that it had killed
itself with a shotgun--possibly because of an Oren-sting. He caught up
the scarce weapon lest the girl grab it and run. Then he dragged the
corpse out by the foot and left it under an orange tree. The oranges
were green, but he picked a few to stave off the pangs of hunger.

When he returned, Shera had found matches and a lamp. She sat at a
table, counting twelve-gauge shells.

"How many?"

"Even dozen." She gazed greedily at the gun. "I won't steal it."

He pitched her an orange and propped the gun in the corner. "If you
did, it would be a mistake."

Her eyes followed him about the room as he inspected the meagre,
dust-laden furnishings.

"I like you, Morgan," she murmured suddenly.

"Like you liked fat-boy?"

"He was a pig."

"But you liked his gun."

"You'd do all right without a gun."

"So?"

"Why don't we team up?"

"Whoa! We may not be looking for the same things."

She shrugged and toyed with the shells while she stared thoughtfully
into the lamplight. "What's there to look for? Besides escape from
Oren."

"Nothing maybe."

"But you think so, huh?"

He straightened suddenly and waggled a pair of cans over his head for
her to see--beans, and a tin of tobacco. He set them aside and
continued searching the cupboards.

"But you think so, huh?" she repeated.

"Shut up and heat the beans."

Shera caught the can and speared it with her knife. It spewed. She
sniffed, cursed, and threw them out. "We eat oranges."

"But what _are_ you looking for, Morgan?"

* * * * *

He rolled himself a cigarette with the aged tobacco which was little
more than dust. He came to the table and sat facing her. She had
placed an orange before him. Almost absently he laid the blade of his
hatchet atop it. The weight of it split the