ey had intended camping. There was firewood
to be gathered, and the meal to be cooked, and they were all tired.

"We can't do this very often, any more," Kalvar Dard told them, "but we
might as well, tonight. Don't bother rubbing sticks for fire; I'll use
the lighter."

He got it from a pouch on his belt--a small, gold-plated, atomic
lighter, bearing the crest of his old regiment of the Frontier Guards.
It was the last one they had, in working order. Piling a handful of dry
splinters under the firewood, he held the lighter to it, pressed the
activator, and watched the fire eat into the wood.

The greatest achievement of man's civilization, the mastery of the
basic, cosmic, power of the atom--being used to kindle a fire of natural
fuel, to cook unseasoned meat killed with stone-tipped spears. Dard
looked sadly at the twinkling little gadget, then slipped it back into
its pouch. Soon it would be worn out, like the other two, and then they
would gain fire only by rubbing dry sticks, or hacking sparks from bits
of flint or pyrites. Soon, too, the last cartridge would be fired, and
then they would perforce depend for protection, as they were already
doing for food, upon their spears.

And they were so helpless. Six adults, burdened with seven little
children, all of them requiring momently care and watchfulness. If the
cartridges could be made to last until they were old enough to fend for
themselves.... If they could avoid collisions with the Hairy People....
Some day, they would be numerous enough for effective mutual protection
and support; some day, the ratio of helpless children to able adults
would redress itself. Until then, all that they could do would be to
survive; day after day, they must follow the game-herds.

4

For twenty years, now, they had been following the game. Winters had
come, with driving snow, forcing horses and deer into the woods, and the
little band of humans to the protection of mountain caves. Springtime
followed, with fresh grass on the plains and plenty of meat for the
people of Kalvar Dard. Autumns followed summers, with fire-hunts, and
the smoking and curing of meat and hides. Winters followed autumns, and
springtimes came again, and thus until the twentieth year after the
landing of the rocket-boat.

Kalvar Dard still walked in the lead, his hair and beard flecked with
gray, but he no longer carried the heavy rifle; the last cartridge for
that had been fired long ago. He car