“They have decided to move their city a little farther away from the forest,” Rolla overheard Dulnop telling Cunora; which was the first indication that the planet boasted such a thing as a city.  Otherwise, things appeared to be in a primitive, rather than a civilized condition.

These four skin-clad savages seemed to be enjoying an aboriginal picnic.  For lunch, they munched on various fruits and nuts picked up en route, together with handfuls of some wheat-like cereal which the big man had brought in a goatskin.  From time to time they scared out various animals from the brush, chasing the creatures after the fashion of dogs and children.  Whenever they came to a stream, invariably all four splashed through it, shouting and laughing with delight.

However, there were but two of these streams, and both of them quite small.  Their banks indicated that either the season was very far advanced, or else that the streams were at one time vastly larger.

“A rather significant fact,” the doctor afterward commented.

Nevertheless, the most impressive thing about all that the doctor learned that day was the strange manner in which the excursion came to an end.  The quartet was at that moment climbing a small hill, apparently on the edge of an extensive range of mountains.  An occasional tree, something like an oak, broke the monotony of the brush at this point, and yet it was not until Rolla was quite at the top of the knoll that Kinney could see surrounding country with any degree of clearness.  Even then he learned little.

The hill was placed on one edge of a valley about forty miles in width.  A good part of it was covered with dusty vegetation, presumably wild; but the rest was plainly under cultivation.  There were large green areas, such as argued grain fields; elsewhere were what looked like orchards and vineyards, some of which were in full bloom—­refuting the notion that the season was a late one.  Nowhere was there a spot of land which might be called barren.

Rolla and her three friends stood taking this in, keeping a rather curious silence meanwhile.  At length Cunora gave a deep sigh, which was almost instantly reproduced by all the rest.  Corrus followed his own sigh with a frank curse.

“By the great god Mownoth!” he swore fiercely.  “It be a shame that we cannot come hence a great deal oftener!  Methinks They could allow it!”

“They care not for our longings,” spoke Cunora, her eyes flashing as angrily as his.  “They give us enough freedom to make us work the better —­no more!  All They care for is thy herd and my crops!”

“And for the labor,” reminded the big man, “of such brains as Rolla’s and Dulnop’s.  It be not right that They should drive us so!”

“Aye,” agreed the younger man, with much less enthusiasm.  “However, what can ye do about it, Corrus?”

The big man’s face flushed, and he all but snarled.  “I tell ye what I can do!  I, and ye as well, if ye but will!  I can—­”