resources. His pistol, and his son's, and Dorita's, with eight, and six,
and seven rounds. One grenade, and the big demolition bomb, too powerful
to be thrown by hand, but which could be set for delayed explosion and
dropped over a cliff or left behind to explode among pursuers. Five
steel daggers, and plenty of spears and slings and axes. Himself, his
son and his son's woman, Dorita, and four or five of the older boys and
girls, who would make effective front-line fighters. And Varnis, who
might come out of her private dream-world long enough to give account
for herself, and even the tiniest of the walking children could throw
stones or light spears. Yes, they could force the pass, if the Hairy
People reached it ahead of them, and then seal it shut with the heavy
bomb. What lay on the other side, he did not know; he wondered how much
game there would be, and if there were Hairy People on that side, too.

Two shots slammed quickly behind him. He dropped his axe and took a
two-hand grip on his stabbing-spear as he turned. His son was hurrying
forward, his pistol drawn, glancing behind as he came.

"Hairy People. Four," he reported. "I shot two; she threw a spear and
killed another. The other ran."

The daughter of Seldar Glav and Olva nodded in agreement.

"I had no time to throw again," she said, "and Bo-Bo would not shoot the
one that ran."

Kalvar Dard's son, who had no other name than the one his mother had
called him as a child, defended himself. "He was running away. It is the
rule: _use bullets only to save life, where a spear will not serve_."