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CHAPTER IX
The Trail to Korse Lenken

Sing Lam-chiong dug heels into the flanks of his mule and trotted back to where Zircon, Scotty, and Rick were jogging along on their respective mounts.

"Good place to make lunch, in about ten minutes."

"Fine, Sing," Zircon said. "We could use lunch." The scientist looked down with distaste at his horse, a big hammerheaded black with the lines of a plow beast. "This creature is about as comfortable as a wooden sled."

Rick sympathized. His own nag, a pin-eared Chinese pony of a peculiar mouse-gray color, had no particular gait. He just waddled along, swaying from side to side and making his rider saddle sore.

Sing saluted and went back to the head of the column, which was made up of pack mules, each led by a Chinese bearer. There were four of the pack animals, each laden with the party's gear.

"He certainly knows this trail," Scotty commented.

"A good thing," Rick said. "The camping places are few and far between. I wish Korse Lenken were nearer."

The party was ten days out of Hong Kong, high in the mountain ranges that formed the backbone of south Asia. Since leaving the more civilized part of China they had trekked through alternate valleys and mountain passes, making good time in the valleys, but slowing to a snail's pace in the mountains. Sometimes the trail was wide enough for the three of them to ride abreast. Sometimes it clung to the mountainside with scarcely room for a single horse or mule. But Sing, leading the way, had a knack of picking the easiest route.

The Chinese guide was a gift from heaven. The Spindrifters had checked in at the American Consulate at Chungking, as Bradley had instructed them, and the consul had offered the loan of one of his own staff. Sing, normally a clerk at the consulate, had been born and brought up in the western reaches of outer Sinkiang Province, and he knew the area from wide travels with his father, a Chinese border police officer. Although he had never been to Korse Lenken, he had been close to it.

In a short while Sing called out in Chinese to the bearers and they followed him into a sort of pocket in the mountainside. Scotty, who was slightly ahead of Rick and Zircon, turned. "We've got company for lunch. There's another party already here."

In a moment the three Americans were greeting a portly Chinese who rose to greet them.

"Howdy, Mr. Ko," Rick said cordially. "We were wondering when we would catch up with you again."

Worthington Ko smiled and bowed. "We will doubtless meet many times until our paths separate. Please dismount and join me. My bearers have a good cooking fire you are welcome to use."

Ko was a textile merchant they had overtaken on the trail a short distance out of Chungking. Since then the two parties had passed and repassed each other several times. Ko had three mules, in addition to the one he rode, and two bearers. The mules carried only light packs. On the return trip, he had told them, they would be laden with Tibetan textiles. He was heading for the famous monastery of Rangan Lo to buy embroidery from the Buddhist monks. Eventually, the embroidery would find a market in Europe.

The three Spindrifters got down stiffly from their horses and found seats among the rocks next to the merchant. He smiled sympathetically. "You are stiff? These trails are very poor and one must travel them many times before one gets used to them." He took off his thick, horn-rimmed glasses and polished them on a scrap of silk. "After twenty years of it, I still find myself bent with weariness at the end of the day."

Sing busied himself with getting food ready. The Spindrift bearers unpacked utensils and their own rations of rice and dried meat.

Ko rose from his rocky seat and rearranged the long, flowing silk coat he wore. "I must be off. With your permission, I will proceed slowly, however, so that you will overtake me before nightfall."

"Of course," Zircon said. "But may I ask why?"

Ko's nearsighted eyes peered at the rifles carried in saddle sheaths on each of the three horses, and at Sing's shotgun. "I hope to take advantage of your weapons," he explained. "By nightfall we should reach Llhan Huang, which is a sort of crossroad. It marks the start of the Lenken country. The Lenkens are unlikely to attack a well-armed party of eight. But they delight in robbing a small party such as mine. For that reason, I usually manage to find a larger group to which to attach myself when entering the Llhan region." He smiled. "The armament you carry for hunting bharals will serve admirably to keep the Lenkens at a distance."

The Spindrift party had been warned that the tribe known as Lenkens were dangerous to travelers.

"We'll be delighted to have you join us," Zircon assured him.

Rick was about to suggest that the portly Chinese merchant wait until after the Spindrifters had eaten so they could all travel together, but he thought better of it. Ko had been cordial, but he had shown little interest in the American "hunting" party and Rick thought he probably preferred to travel at his own speed and in his own way.

Sing called that lunch was ready and they took mess kits to the fire and loaded them up with rice covered with a savory sauce, canned beef, and hot, crisp water chestnuts. As Rick sighed with gratitude over the first tasty mouthful, Scotty looked at the vanishing Ko party and mused, "Wonder how come he speaks English so perfectly?"

Sing overheard. He grinned. "No reason for surprise. Many Chinese are educated in American and English colleges both in China and in other countries. Like myself. I am a graduate of Oberlin."

"Guess that's right," Scotty admitted.

"Worthington is a rather strange name for a Chinese, Sing," Rick remarked.

The guide nodded. "It is. But I don't think it is his real one. Many Chinese take western first names, especially those who trade with westerners. That is because our own names are often too hard to say or remember."

"Have you ever met Ko before?" Zircon asked. "Since you've traveled widely in this region, I thought you might have come across him before."

"I don't think so," Sing replied. "But this is a very big country and there are many travelers like him."

Sing was certainly right in saying that there were many travelers, although the merchants like Ko were a minority. There were families of Tibetans walking along the trail, laden with their possessions, heading for goodness knew where. There were groups of horsemen, dressed in the quilted clothes of the mountain country and with peaked felt hats. Such men usually were armed with old-fashioned muskets and carried forked rests in which to lay the musket barrels for support while firing. There were parties of Chinese, sometimes on foot and sometimes with trains of mules or yaks, the oxlike Tibetan beasts of burden.

Frequently, especially in valley country, small villages lay near the trail. Often there were herders with their large flocks of sheep.

Although the trail slanted up and down, from valley to mountain pass and back down again, the way led constantly higher toward the white-capped peaks that have been called "The Backbone of the World." Beyond them, many hundreds of miles away, lay Nepal and India.

It was always cool now, and the Americans and Sing wore windbreakers and woolen sweaters. The bearers donned padded long coats. At night, the sleeping bags were comfortable; without them the Americans would have been chilled through and through.

"Make a guess, Sing," Rick requested. "How many more days to Korse Lenken?"

Sing counted on his fingers. "With fortune, maybe we'll get there late day after tomorrow. Depends on the trails."

Zircon sipped steaming tea standing up. He was too saddle sore to sit down. "Where do we camp tonight?"

"A mile or two past Llhan Huang. I know a good water supply there."

The bearers were standing around waiting patiently, already finished with cleaning up and packing, except for the Americans' teacups. They downed the last swallows of tea and handed the cups to Sing, then swung into the saddle again.

"I hope Sing is right about getting there day after tomorrow," Rick said as he shifted uncomfortably in the "chafing seat," as he called it. "This hay-burner is no luxury liner."

"Ditto," Scotty agreed. "Besides, I'm anxious to see Chahda."

Hobart Zircon nodded. "I hope whatever we find is worth the discomfort of this trip." He grinned. "At any rate, it's a new experience for all of us."

"I don't think I'll thank Bradley for it, though," Rick added. "Well, let's get moving."

He dug his heels into the pony's flanks and moved into position behind Sing. Scotty and Zircon fell back to bring up the rear. Although they were reasonably sure no one would attack them, Zircon felt it was best to have a rear guard and they had taken turns at the end of the column.

In spite of saddle soreness, Rick looked at the view with appreciation as the trail suddenly topped a rise. Far below spread a lush valley. Beyond were the last peaks they would have to cross before they came to Korse Lenken.

CHAPTER X
The Ambush at Llhan Huang

It was late afternoon before the Spindrift caravan left the rocks of the mountain pass and reached better ground. They paused on top of a small, pyramid-shaped hill while one of the bearers retied the pack on his mule.

Zircon looked at the formation with interest. "An old volcanic cone," he pointed out. "Notice the regularity of the slope? And we're in a kind of saucer that once was a live crater."

Rick could see it clearly once the scientist mentioned its volcanic origin. The saucer was perhaps a dozen yards across, and its edge was marked by a definite rim. Whoever first made the trail apparently had decided to go right up and across the hill instead of pushing through the dense underbrush at its base.

In a moment they started again, the mules picking their way carefully down the hillside. At the bottom of the hill was a rather dense forest, and beyond it the valley.

Sing called back over his shoulder. "Llhan Huang is just past the woods. We'll meet Ko there, I think. I just saw the last of his mules going into the woods."

Rick stood up in his stirrups and rubbed his raw and aching thighs. The three had ridden horseback before, but not to any great extent, and the long trail was a hard initiation.

He noted that the sun was dropping behind the western peaks, and he knew from experience that it would be dark in a few minutes. The great western range was so high in the air that it brought night by blocking out the sunlight surprisingly early in the afternoon.

Then he rode into the forest and gloom closed in around him. It was cold. He zipped up his windbreaker and reached for his gloves. He saw that the trail through the forest twisted and turned to miss the big hardwood trees, so that sometimes he could see only the mule in front of him. Zircon and Scotty, at the rear of the column, were out of sight most of the time.

It grew darker rapidly. Rick reached into his saddlebag and drew out a flashlight, tucking it into his jacket pocket where it would be handy. When he could see the sky overhead, it was dark gray and he knew night was close at hand.

Presently he found himself peering through the gloom even to see the mule directly in front. When they got out of the woods it would be lighter, he hoped.

Then, as he stood up again to ease his saddle burns, the woods around them were suddenly alive with gunfire! His pony reared and would have bolted if he had not gripped the reins tight and jerked him to a stop. He caught a glimpse of orange flashes in the gloom, and from ahead he heard a sudden scream from one of the mules.

Scotty's voice rose in a yell. "Turn around! Turn! Get back out of the woods to the hilltop!"

Rick saw his friend's strategy at once. On the hilltop, they could fight off almost a battalion. He pulled his quivering pony around on the narrow trail and yelled at Sing.

The guide's voice came in answer. "Coming! We're coming!"

A slug whined past Rick's ear and slapped into a tree trunk. He tried desperately to get the rifle out of his saddle sheath while controlling his fear-crazed pony. Then he heard the roar of Sing's shotgun. There was no sound of firing from Scotty and Zircon, and he guessed they were having trouble with their mounts, too. None of them was horseman enough to fire from the saddle.

Rick stopped trying to get the rifle free and bent low, urging his pony on. Behind him, he heard the pound of mule hoofs, and in the woods on both sides the rustle of underbrush as the attackers tried to keep up. The shots were fewer now, thank goodness!

In a few moments the racing column broke out of the woods into better light. Ahead, Rick saw Zircon and Scotty go over the rim of the volcanic hill, and within seconds saw them reappear again on foot, rifles in hand.

"Come on," Scotty yelled. "We'll cover you!"

Zircon's big .45-90 spoke with a decisive slam and Rick heard the heavy slug crash through the brush. Then the mules ahead of him topped the hill and in a moment he was out of the saddle, too, rifle in hand.

He joined Scotty and Zircon in time to see Sing and the other two bearers race up the hill. One mule was missing.

"Hold your fire," Scotty said. "There's nothing to shoot at unless you see a muzzle flash."

Sing jumped from his mule's saddle and took command. He spoke rapidly to the bearers, who at once forced the mules to their knees and then over on their sides. "So they won't get hit," Sing explained. "We lost one mule." He reloaded his shotgun, his face worried.

"Did you see anyone?" Rick asked.

"No. But I'm afraid for Ko. We had almost caught up when they started shooting. I saw one of his mules right ahead of me."

"Let's hope he found some sort of cover," Zircon said. He glanced at the sky. "It will be completely dark within a few minutes. Sing, scatter your men around the rim. They can keep watch, even if they have no rifles. The rest of us can take up positions at equal distances from each other around the rim."

Scotty adjusted his rifle sights. "Afraid of an attack after dark, professor?"

"I am. This attack probably was timed to catch us in the woods in the darkness. We're fortunate that Scotty's memory is good. Suggesting the hill was a wonderful idea."

"I knew we'd be cut to pieces in the woods," Scotty said.

Rick surveyed the terrain anxiously. Sing was posting his men. "A good thing they're not very expert shots," Rick said. "They took us completely by surprise."

Scotty walked to the rim and found a position that suited him. "Not much danger of their hitting us except at point-blank range, if their guns are like some of those we've seen."

Zircon found a position, too, and Rick searched for one that he liked. He finally chose a place where a broken rock pile would give him cover. It was so dark now that he could scarcely see.

There were plenty of noises down the hill, but no firing. Rick waited, rifle thrust out before him. Were they gathering for a rush? And who were they? Then he heard the noise of a dislodged pebble on the hillside below him. He strained to see, but it was too dark. He thought: If only I had the infrared light and the glasses! They were in one of the packs. Stupid not to have thought of them at once, he berated himself. Now he didn't dare leave his position until he found out what was below.

There was the sound of a body sliding over low brush almost directly beneath him. He tensed, then as an afterthought, he reached into his pocket and brought out the flashlight. With it, he thought, he could blind the attacker and at the same time get a shot at him. He put his thumb on the button and waited.

In a moment a figure loomed out of the darkness only a few feet away. Rick sucked in his breath and half lifted his rifle for a one-hand shot. At the same moment, he pressed the flashlight button.

The beam shot squarely into the face of Worthington Ko!

Rick put down his rifle quickly to extend a helping hand to the merchant. And then he noticed something.

Shoot a light into the eyes of a man whose pupils are dilated by darkness and there is a definite reaction. If the eyes are normal, the pupils contract sharply.

One of Ko's did. Rick saw them, magnified by the thick glasses. The other pupil didn't change at all.

And as the fact registered, Rick saw something else. In one of Ko's hands was a grenade!

In the instant that Rick grabbed up his rifle and swung it like a club, he guessed the answer.

Ko was the Chinese with the glass eye!

CHAPTER XI
The Goatskin Water Bag

Several things happened almost at the same time. The attackers awoke to the fact that Rick's light made a good target and started shooting. Rick dropped the flashlight as his rifle, swung with one hand, barrel forward, connected solidly with the top of Ko's head. Scotty jumped to see what was happening.

The grenade rolled from Ko's hand, and as it did, the safety handle flew off! Ko already had pulled the pin!

A musket slug cracked into the rock inches from Rick's face and sent chips of stone into his face. He felt a sudden pain above one eye. But before he had time to realize what had happened, he was hauled back bodily into the crater by the guide.

Scotty, who had recognized Ko in the beam of the fallen flashlight, grabbed the merchant by the collar and dragged him into the saucer with them.

There was a five-second fuse on the grenade, but things had happened so fast there was a second to spare before it went off. Then for an instant there was a dull flash and the cruuuump of the grenade. Shrapnel sliced through the woods below, bringing yells of fright.

"The camera," Rick gasped. He got to his hands and knees, shaking his head. There was wetness across one eye that he thought was blood.

Scotty got his meaning instantly. He snapped, "Sing. Keep an eye on Ko," and ran to the pack animals. It took him only a moment to find the camera and lift it from its case, then he handed Zircon the special glasses and quickly fitted his infrared telescopic sight onto his own rifle.

Rick got to his feet, keeping the injured eye closed, and fumbled through the gear until he found his tripod. He set it up quickly and mounted the camera on it. Then he carried the unit to the edge of the saucer and pushed the button that lit up the infrared light. He couldn't see to shoot, but he could operate the camera unit. Through the special glasses, Zircon would be able to see anything the infrared beam hit. Scotty would be able to see, too, through his special telescopic rifle sight. Rick panned the light across the woods below. It wasn't light that could be seen, of course. Only the dull glow of the filament, too dim to be seen more than a few feet away, told him that the camera was operating.

"I see one," Zircon bellowed suddenly, and the words were echoed by the dull, authoritative slap of the .45-90. The heavy slug drove through the brush below. "Missed," the scientist said in disgust.

Scotty's rifle cracked sharply. Scotty didn't miss. There was a yell from below, then the noise of many men running through the underbrush. Rick guessed that the attackers didn't like the weird sharpshooting in the darkness.

In a few moments there was quiet, and the infrared light found nothing but the silent woods. Sing, who had been crouching over Ko, ready frying pan in hand, said, "They've gone, I think. These hill people don't like night fights, anyway."

"That's my guess, too," Scotty agreed.

Zircon found his own flashlight, and, ducking low, shot it over the saucer's edge. He waited long moments, but nothing happened. Had the men who attacked them still been in the woods below, they certainly would have fired at the tempting target.

"Bring that light here, will you, professor?" Rick called. "Something hit me in the eye awhile back." He tried to keep the concern out of his voice. Had he been blinded in that eye?

Scotty and the professor hurried to him in some concern. Zircon shot the light into his face and he blinked with his good eye.

"Good heavens," Zircon said softly. Then, on closer examination, he sighed with relief. "A scratch, just below the eyebrow. The eye itself isn't damaged. Scotty, find the first-aid kit, please? We'll have this cleaned up in a jiffy."

While Scotty held the light, Zircon cleaned the wound and washed the blood from Rick's eye. Then, in the midst of the operation, there was a metallic clang from where Sing stood guard.

Scotty flashed the light over in time for them to see Worthington Ko stretch limply on the ground. Sing's smile flashed. "He was waking up. I didn't want to bother you, so I made him sleep some more."

Rick had to chuckle. Their efficient guide had bashed Ko with his frying pan.

Zircon completed giving Rick first aid. "That's clotting nicely, Rick." He cut a tiny piece of sterile gauze and affixed it with a bit of tape. "There you are. Good as new by morning. I suspect that a chip of stone must have struck you."

Rick tested the action of his eyelid on that side. The gauze felt ten times as big as it actually was, but it was all right. "Thanks, professor," he said. "Now, let's take a look at our captive."

Worthington Ko's slumber, induced by Sing's mighty frying pan, was not very deep. A cupful of water in the face brought him around readily enough and he peered up at the Americans. He had lost his glasses in the shuffle, and without them there was no doubt that he had one glass eye. He peered balefully from the good one.

"What," he demanded, "is the meaning of this?"

"We might ask the same," Zircon stated, "except that we can assume that you sponsored the attack on us. What we want to know is, why?"

Ko snorted indignantly. "Nonsense! I was coming to your aid, having made my way through that mob of Tibetan bandits." He rubbed his head. "And then someone struck me."

"Were you going to use that grenade as a calling card?" Rick asked caustically.

Ko opened his mouth to speak, but Rick continued, "Don't try to tell us you were going to use it in our defense. Men don't pull the pins on grenades until they're ready to toss them. That one had our name on it."

Ko shrugged. "I see you've convinced yourselves. It's useless for me to say anything further." He shut his mouth obstinately, nor could they get anything further out of him.

Zircon motioned to Sing. "Tie him up. Then post guards. We'll stay here for the night." He turned to the boys. "I think it's safe to make a fire. We can have some supper and then turn in. I'll take first watch with one of the bearers. Scotty will take the second, Rick the third, and Sing the last." He opened the chamber of his rifle and extracted the shell, then put the rifle down. "I'm hungry," he said, grinning. "Nothing like a good fight to work up an appetite."

Scotty laughed. "You talk like a Marine," he said admiringly.

The night passed without incident, and the entire party was awake at dawn. Over breakfast, they discussed the affair again. Like the discussion of the night before, it proved futile. There were simply too many questions that had no answers.

Rick summed it up. "We've found Long Shadow and the Chinese with the glass eye. Or rather they've found us. And it's obvious they're out for blood. It scares me to think of what would have happened on the junk if the Englishman and Bradley hadn't taken a hand."

"I'd like to know how they knew we were coming," Scotty said.

Zircon drained the last of his coffee. "I don't think they did know. We walked into Canton Charlie's and asked for Chahda. We put the finger on ourselves, so to speak. They probably assumed that anyone asking for Chahda was an enemy. Obviously, they had some sort of contact with Chahda, otherwise he wouldn't have cabled the descriptions after stating that he was in danger."

"That sounds right," Rick agreed. He looked over to where Worthington Ko was having a cup of tea under the watchful eye of Sing. "What do we do with our fat chum?"

"Keep him for a hostage," Scotty suggested.

Zircon shook his head. "A good idea, but not practical. It would require that we guard him constantly and that would be a nuisance. No, I think we had better leave him and push on for Korse Lenken as rapidly as possible. Now that we know our danger is from Chahda's enemies and not from casual bandits, we are forewarned."

"Then what do we do with him?" Rick asked.

"Leave him here, afoot. His friends probably will find him, but I don't think that matters. Now that we know him, he's less dangerous. We can treat him like any other bandit."

Rick and Scotty agreed. As they drew nearer the goal, both of them were increasingly anxious to get to Chahda, to hear from him some of the answers to their questions, and finally to get down to the business of finding the heavy water that was the reason for their quest.

Although they hadn't discussed it, Rick was worried about Chahda. Normally, he had full confidence in the Hindu boy's ability to take care of himself. But this time Chahda was far from the kind of people he knew, among unfriendly strangers. Was his friend hiding somewhere in the mountains around Korse Lenken? Or had he found a hide-out in the village itself?

They would soon know.

After breakfast, Rick, Scotty, and Sing surveyed the scene of the ambush, leaving Zircon to guard the Chinese and to direct the repacking of their gear.

There were definite signs of the enemy's presence in the woods below. One area was pretty well trampled, indicating to Scotty's trained eye that the ambushers had departed in a big hurry. The Chinese guide pointed to where ants were swarming around a section of ground.

"Someone was hit there," he said. "Ants find bloodstains fast in this country."

"We were aiming low," Scotty said. "Probably a leg wound. Sing, where do you suppose Ko's mules are?"

The guide shrugged. "Pretty sure to be far away. The men who attacked us wouldn't leave mules behind. They're too valuable."

Scotty led the way down the trail to where the first shots had been fired. The three moved cautiously, just in case the attackers were waiting a little distance away. Scotty's rifle was ready for instant use.

"I was right here," Sing said. "Ko's mules were ahead of me, just a few yards away. Let's go ahead some and take a look."

The trail wound through the woods for a little distance and then broke into a clearing. Rick saw gear littered over the ground and pointed to it. "Looks as if they left something behind!"

In a moment they were looking through what was evidently Ko's entire luggage. Sing kicked at a pile of cooking utensils. "They took the mules but left everything else."

"Funny they'd do that," Rick said thoughtfully. "After all, Ko was the boss. He must have arranged the ambush. Unless we're wrong about him."

"I don't think we're wrong," Scotty denied. "You hit it on the nose when you said a man doesn't pull the pin on a grenade unless he's ready to toss it. Ko must be the boss."

Sing examined a richly embroidered robe. "My guess is that Ko hired a few Tibetan bandits. They wouldn't worry about him or his belongings after being met by heavy resistance. And his bearers would be afraid to stay and face him. Or maybe they thought he was killed while attacking us. There was a lot of noise, and it was dark."

Rick thought Sing was probably right. He walked over to a pile of furs. "What are these?" he asked. "Ko must have been a fur trader."

Sing looked up. "Water bags. Goatskin. Very common in China." He dropped the robe and came to look, his face wrinkling into a frown. "But usually a man doesn't carry so many. Very funny."

Rick and Scotty examined one with interest. It was a whole skin, except for head and feet. Even the tail was still attached. The ends of the legs had been sewed up, but the neck was left open. Attached to the neck opening was a rawhide thong that could be used to bind the opening tight when the skin was filled with water.

"These are good bags," Sing said. "Better than most."

"Perhaps he planned to sell them," Rick suggested.

"Don't think so." The Chinese guide shook his head. "People here make their own. Every time they kill a goat for meat, that's a new goatskin. The Buddhist Tibetans, who don't kill anything, even flies, use pottery jugs."

Scotty had started counting the bags. He paused at the ninth and held it up. "This one is split open. Looks like the seam gave way. There's a sort of funny lining."

Rick took the skin and turned it inside out. It was smooth and glassy on the inside, and the substance was completely transparent because he could see the skin underneath.

Sing felt of it. "Never saw anything like that before."

Rick held it to his nose and sniffed. It was odorless. He took his pocketknife and scraped at it while the others watched. A tiny flake shaved off. He tested it between his fingers, and it was flexible as rubber. An idea was growing in his head.

"It's crazy," he said. "But you know what I think this is? I think it's plastic!"

"The professor can tell us," Scotty suggested. "Come on. Let's take it to him."

They ran back up the trail, Rick leading with the skin. If the stuff were plastic, it could mean only one thing. He lengthened his stride.

Zircon looked up from his notebook as they topped the hill and ran toward him. He dropped the book and jumped to his feet, reaching for his rifle.

"It's not another ambush," Rick panted. He held out the skin. "It's this. Professor, what is this transparent stuff inside?"

Zircon took the skin and ran his finger tips over the lining. He held it up so that it caught the light, then looked at Rick curiously. "That's odd," he muttered. "This is certainly a goatskin. And almost surely, this is a plastic lining. I can't be sure, of course, but I've never seen anything like this in nature."

"It's a goatskin water bag," Rick said excitedly. He pointed to Ko. "He had a dozen of them."

Zircon bellowed, "So! Then if this is plastic…"

"It was a clever stunt," Rick finished. "No one would suspect coolies toting goatskin water bags. And even if anyone did suspect, he wouldn't be able to tell anything by a casual examination."