They came out upon the beach where one of the purple patches touched the
shore and Dane noted that it left a scummy deposit there. The Terrans
went on to the water's edge. Where it was clear of the purple stuff they
could get a murky glimpse of the bottom, but the scum hid long stretches
of shoreline and outer wave, and Dane wondered if the gorp used it as a
protective covering.
For the moment the Salariki made no move toward the sea which was to be
their hunting ground. Instead the youngest members of the party, some of
whom were adolescents not yet entitled to wear the claw knife of manhood,
spread out along the shore and set industriously to gathering driftwood,
which they brought back to heap on the sand. Dane, watching that harvest,
caught sight of a smoothly polished length. He called Weeks' attention
to the water rounded cylinder.
The oiler's eyes lighted and he stooped to pick it up. Where the other
sticks were from grass trees this was something else. And among the
bleached pile it had the vividness of flame. For it was a strident
scarlet. Weeks turned it over in his hands, running his fingers lovingly
across its perfect grain.
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