an't understand why the cat-business caused ... unless ... rapport
is achieved by a sort of resonance--and you couldn't get it with a cat
and with humans too--"

"Drop it, will you!" She turned and stalked out of the shanty. At the
doorway, she broke into a run.

Morgan looked at Hanson. Hanson waggled his head and grinned ruefully.
"That--uh--lady likes you, suh."

Morgan snorted and went to the door. She was just disappearing into a
tangle of weeds that had once been an orange grove. He set off after
her at a quick trot. "Shera, wait--"

He caught up with her at the edge of the swamp, where she was backing
quickly away from a coiled water-moccasin. He tossed a stick at the
snake, and it slithered into the shallow water. Then he caught her
arms, and she whirled to face him with defiant eyes.

"You think I'm a--a--"

"I don't."

"You act like I'm barely human."

"I didn't mean it that way--"

"You don't even trust me, and you want me to--"

"I _don't_."

"Trust me." She nodded.

"I do."

She stamped her foot in the soft muck. "Then kiss me."

A grim possibility occurred to him, and he hesitated an instant too
long. She wrenched herself free with a snarl and bolted back toward
the shanty. "_I could_ have done _that_ last night," she snapped over
her shoulder, "while you were asleep."

* * * * *

The chase led back to the house. When he burst back inside, she was
already panting over the sink, scraping plates. When he approached her
from behind, she whirled quickly, clenching a platter in both hands.
When she brought it down across his head with a clatter of broken
china, Morgan gave up. He retreated, nursing his scalp, then stalked
angrily out to join Hanson. Dogs were baying to the north. The old man
looked worried.

"They're comin', suh. Must be a lot of 'em. I got my dawgs trained so
they don't bark less they's a bunch of 'em."

Morgan listened for a moment. "I hear a truck."

"That's so?" Hanson shook his head. "They ain't never come in a truck
before."

"Truck--must be a dozen of them at least." He eyed Hanson sharply.
"Run or fight?"

The old man scratched his toe in the dirt. "Ain't never yet run from a
fight."

Morgan turned silently and strode back in the house for the gun. Shera
ignored him. "Orenians coming," he grunted, and went back out to join
the oldster.

Morgan and Hanson trotted through the scrub spruce, heading for the
roadway. But they t