as she stared at him.

"Loners don't last too long out here. Being alone gets to you sooner
or later," he said. "You go mad or you get careless and the patrol
gets you."

The girl opened her mouth and glanced around quickly, then back at
Nelson. She bent over, still watching Nelson all the time, and put the
can down. Then she stepped backwards, toward the edge of the clearing,
feeling the way with her feet and a hand held back to tell her if she
were backing into a tree or rock. When she was almost to the edge of
the clearing, almost to the trees, she stopped and stared at him.
There were shadows now; it was almost night, and night came quickly in
this country. Nelson could not see her face as she looked at him. She
turned suddenly and ran into the trees. He made no effort to stop her
or call her back; any such effort would have been futile and for his
purposes, disastrous. No such effort was necessary.

He spent the night sheltered between some boulders and awoke the next
morning rested by an undisturbed sleep.

He found a small creek near by and washed his face to awaken himself.
It was a clear morning, with a warm sun and a cool wafting breeze. He
felt good; he felt alive and ready for whatever the day had to offer.
And he felt ready for breakfast.

He found another can of pork and beans in his pack and opened it. It
was, he noted, almost the last. His supplies were getting low. He
considered the situation as he slowly ate his breakfast.

Of course there was only one thing to do. He supposed that he could
have gotten by simply by hunting his food, but hunting was at best
seasonal and required that he keep more or less to a specific area;
agriculture was about the same, only worse. A farm meant a smaller
area than a hunting preserve and it also meant sticking to it more. It
meant buildings to store food against winter. It meant inevitable--and
almost certainly prompt--capture by a patrol. No, all things
considered, there was only one answer and he knew the answer from long
experience. Find a patrol warehouse and steal your food there.

The question of course, was where and when. There was a patrol station
near where Nelson now was, and that was the natural target. He had a
few furnace beam guns--three, to be exact--and since the patrol could
detect the residue from a furnace beamer a mile away even at low
force, the only safe thing to use one on was the patrol. And to be
frank, he rather enjoyed his brushes wi