THE GREEN HILLS OF EARTH

The far shore was no more than a strand; it concealed an overgrown bayou. Jimmie followed it a short distance, stopped the crock, and said, «This must be just about the place,» in an uncertain voice. He dug under the tarpaulin folded up in one corner of the empty hold and drew out a broad flat paddle. He took this to the rail, and, leaning out, he smacked the water loudly with the blade: Slap! ... slap, slap ... Slap!

He waited.

The flat head of an amphibian broke water near the side; it studied Jimmie with bright, merry eyes. «Hello,» said Jimmie.

It answered in its own language. Jimmie replied in the same tongue, stretching his mouth to reproduce the uncouth clucking syllables. The native listened, then slid underwater again.

He – or, more probably, she – was back in a few minutes, another with her. «Thigarek?» the newcomer said hopefully.

«Thigarek when we get there, old girl,» Jimmie temporized. «Here ... climb aboard.» He held out a hand, which the native accepted and wriggled gracefully inboard. It perched its unhuman, yet oddly pleasing little figure on the rail near the driver's seat. Jimmie got the car underway.

How long they were guided by their little pilot Wingate did not know, as the timepiece on the control panel was out of order, but his stomach informed him that it was too long. He rummaged through the cabin and dug out an iron ration which he shared with Satchel and Jimmie. He offered some to the native, but she smelled at it and drew her head away.

Shortly after that there was a sharp hissing noise and a column of steam rose up ten yards ahead of them. Jimmie halted the crock at once. «Cease firing!» he called out. «It's just us chickens.»

«Who are you?» came a disembodied voice.

«Fellow travelers.»

«Climb out where we can see you.»

«Okay.»

The native poked Jimmie in the ribs. «Thigarek,» she stated positively.

«Huh? Oh, sure.» He parceled out trade tobacco until she acknowledged the total, then added one more package for good will. She withdrew a piece of string from her left cheek pouch, tied up her pay, and slid over the side. They saw her swimming away, her prize carried high out of the water.

«Hurry up and show yourself!»

«Coming!» They climbed out into waist-deep water and advanced holding their hands overhead. A squad of four broke cover and looked them over, their weapons lowered but ready. The leader searched their harness pouches and sent one of his men on to look over the crocodile.

«You keep a close watch,» remarked Wingate.

The leader glanced at him. «Yes,» he said, «and no. The little people told us you were coming. They're worth all the watch dogs that were ever littered.»

They got underway again with one of the scouting party driving. Their captors were not unfriendly but not disposed to talk. «Wait till you see the Governor,» they said.

Their destination turned out to be a wide stretch of moderately high ground. Wingate was amazed at the number of buildings and the numerous population. «How in the world can they keep a place like this a secret?» he asked Jimmie.

«If the state of Texas were covered with fog and had only the population of Waukegan, Illinois, you could hide quite a lot of things.»

«But wouldn't it show on a map?»

«How well mapped do you think Venus is? Don't be a dope.»

On the basis of the few words he had had with Jimmie beforehand Wingate had expected no more than a camp where fugitive clients lurked in the bush while squeezing a precarious living from the country. What he found was a culture and a government. True, it was a rough frontier culture and a simple government with few laws and an unwritten constitution, but a framework of customs was in actual operation and its gross offenders were punished – with no higher degree of injustice than one finds anywhere.

It surprised Humphrey Wingate that fugitive slaves, the scum of Earth, were able to develop an integrated society. It had surprised his ancestors that the transported criminals of Botany Bay should develop a high civilization in Australia. Not that Wingate found the phenomenon of Botany Bay surprising – that was history, and history is never surprising – after it happens.

The success of the colony was more credible to Wingate when he came to know more of the character of the Governor, who was also generalissimo, and administrator of the low and middle justice. (High justice was voted on by the whole community, a procedure that Wingate considered outrageously sloppy, but which seemed to satisfy the community.) As magistrate the Governor handed out decisions with a casual contempt for rules or evidence and legal theory that reminded Wingate of stories he had heard of the apocryphal Old Judge Bean, «The Law West of Pecos,» but again the people seemed to like it.