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The move-overs paid no attention to that; they wanted to play. He endeavored to pay no attention to
them but moved forward again, closely accompanied by the whole group, some five. He was still
wondering how to keep from being loved to death or at least back into captivity when they came out
into the clearing.
Here was the rest of the herd, more than two hundred head, from babies that butted against his knees up
to the grey-bearded old patriarch, fat in the belly and reaching as high as Don's shoulder. They all
welcomed him and wanted him to stay a while.
One thing that had worried him was now cleared up he had not swum in a circle and blundered back
onto Main Island. The only move-overs on Main Island were half-domesticated scavengers such as those
which had hung around the restaurant; there were no herds.
It suddenly occurred to him that it was barely possible that he might turn the ubiquitous friendliness of the
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bipeds into an advantage rather than a sure giveaway. They would not let him be; that was sure. If he left
the herd, some of them were certain to trail along, bleating and snorting and making themselves and him
conspicuous. On the other hand...
He moved straight out into the clearing, pushing his friends aside as he went. He shoved himself right into
the center of the herd and sat down on the ground.
Three of the babies promptly climbed into his lap. He let them stay. Adults and half-grown bucks
crowded around him bleating and snuffling and trying to nuzzle the top of his head. He let them he was
now surrounded by a wall of flesh. From time to time one of the inner circle would be shouldered out of
the way and would go back to grazing but there were always enough around him to block out his view of
his surroundings. He waited.
After a considerable time he heard more excited bleating from the fringe of the herd. For a moment be
thought his personal guard would be seduced away by this new excitement, but the inner circle preferred
to keep their privileged positions the wall held. Again he heard voices.
"For Pete's sake it's a whole flock of those silly billies!" Then "Hey! Get down! Quit licking my
face!"
Carly's voice replied, "I think he's fallen in love with you, Joe. Say Soapy said to arrest anything that
walks: shall we take this one back to him?"
"Stow it!" There were sounds of scuffling, then the high bleating of a move-over both surprised and hurt.
"Maybe we ought to burn one and take it back anyway,'" Curly went on. "I hear they are mighty tasty
eating."
"You turn this into a hunting party and Soapy will haul you up before the Old Man. Come on we got
work to do."
Don could follow their progress around the edge of the herd. He could even tell by the sounds when the
two soldiers managed to cuff and kick the most persistent of the creatures off their trail. He continued to
sit there long after they were gone, tickling the chin of a baby which had gone to sleep in his lap, and
resting himself.
Presently it began to grow dark. The herd started to bed down for the night. By the time it was fully dark
they were all lying down except the sentries around the edge. Because he was dead tired and completely
lacking in any plan of action Don bedded down with them, his head cradled on a soft and velvety back
and himself in turn half supporting a couple of youngsters.
For a while he thought about his predicament, then he thought about nothing.
The herd stirred and he awakened. There was much snorting and stomping mixed with the whimpering
complaints of the young, still not fully awake. Don got his bearings and got to his own feet; he knew
vaguely what to expect the herd was about to migrate. Gregarians rarely grazed the same island two
days in a row. They slept the first part of the night, then moved out before dawn when their natural
enemies were least active. They forded from one island to another, using paths through the water
known possibly by instinct to the herd leaders. For that matter, gregarians could swim, but they rarely
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did so.
Don thought: well, I'll soon be rid of them. Nice people, but too much is too much. Then he thought
better of it if the move-overs were moving to another island it was sure that it would not be Main Island
and it would certainly have to be farther away from Main Island than was this one. What could he lose?
He felt a bit light-headed but the logic seemed right; when the herd moved out he worked his way up
near the van. The leader took them down the island about a quarter of a mile, then stepped off into the
water. It was still so nearly pitch dark that Don was not aware of it until he too stepped into it. It was
only up to his ankles and did not get much deeper. Don splashed along almost at a dogtrot, trying to stay
inside the body of the herd so that he would run no chances of blundering into deeper water in the
darkness. He hoped that this was not one of the migrations involving swimming.
It began to grow truly light and the pace quickened; Don was hard put to keep up. At one point the old
buck in the lead stopped, snorted, and made a sharp turn; Don could not guess why he had turned, for
the morning mist was very thick and one piece of water looked exactly like another. Yet the way chosen
turned out to be shallow. They followed it for another kilometer or more, twisting and turning at times,
then at last the leader clambered up a bank with Don on his heels.
Don threw himself down, exhausted. The old buck stopped, plainly puzzled, while the herd gained the
land and crowded around them. The leader snorted and looked disgusted, then turned away and
continued his duty of leading his people to good pasture. Don pulled himself together and followed them.
They were just coming out of the trees that hedged the shore when Don saw a fence off to the right. He
felt like singing. "So long, folksl" he called out. "Here's where I get off." He headed for the fence, while
the main herd moved on. When he reached the fence he reluctantly slapped and swatted his attendants
until he managed to shoo them off, then headed along the wire. Eventually, he told himself, I will find a
gate and that will lead me to people. It did not matter much who the people were; they would feed him
and let him rest and help him to hide from the invaders.
The fog was very thick; it was good to have the fence to guide him. He stumbled along by it, feeling
feverish and somewhat confused, but cheerful.
"Halt."
Don froze automatically, shook his head and tried to remember where he was.
"I've got you spotted," the voice went on. "Move forward slowly with your hands up."
Don strained his eyes to see through the fog, wondered if he dared to run for it. But, with a feeling of
utter and final defeat, he realized that he had run as far as he could.
XIII - Fog-Eaters
"SNAP out of it!" the voice said, "or I shoot."
"Okay," he answered dully and moved forward with his hands over his head. A few paces advance let
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