John Rackham by The Double Invaders Page A

to push through the shrub-fence."
    "Is that why Ryth took
off her tunic?"
    "Try
getting through those shrubs with one on, and see," Hork chuckled.
"There are hook-thoms that would tear the cloth to pieces in no time. In
any case, we do not wear clothing in the fields when working. It is easier this
way; healthier, too. And clothes last longer."
    It was all very rational, Bragan thought, but
he imagined the prospect ahead and the sweat began to run down his face, not
all from the strain of holding the shears and guiding them through the fleece.
Hork kept moving. The shorn beasts had to be freed and turned back into the
fenced enclosure, and Ryth kept coming with more, glossy with sweat but
seemingly without any thought of fatigue. And Bragan couldn't complain, because
he knew he had the easy part, sitting down. So he set his teeth, ignored his
aches and concentrated on shearing. He got better at it by degrees.
    As Ryth said, sparing a moment to come and
inspect the fleeces critically, "Not good, but you will improve with time. I think perhaps there are six or seven more yet
to be caught. Then I will go ahead and prepare for the evening meal."
    Her
timing was pretty accurate. By the time Bragan had steered the shears through
the last thicknesses of the last fleece the red glow of sunset was staining the
hillside. Hork had already knotted the short cords into a long line. He freed
the last snarling beast, herded it through the fence, then added the cords to
his string and made two rough bales of the fleeces.    He adjusted them across his shoulders to
take the bite out of the thin cord between the two great bundles. Then, with a
grin and grunt, he hoisted the two bales and took them like a milkmaid carries
a bucket-yoke.
    "If
you'll hand me the stool," he said, "can you manage the gas-bottle
and shears?"
    Bragan
stood and stretched and said, "I can try. Where tc?"
    "Just follow me." Hork went
plodding away down the hill. Bragan followed wearily until they reached the
first building, a long low shed. Copying Hork, he dumped his burden gladly.
Then the youth grinned and waved him on.
    "This
is the best part of the day," he declared, and Bragan followed him past
the buildings and down into a little gully. At the far end a small stream
chuckled in a bend and made a tempting pool. Hork dropped his tunic, took a
moment to skin out of his woolen drawers and ran to hurl himself into the
water. Bragan went after him promptly. It was good to feel the cool water soak
away the grime and ache. He ducked right under blissfully.
    "Ryth
will be along in a moment," Hork promised, "with oils and towels, and
fresh clothes. And then supper!"
    Ryth came with a jar, and an armful of clean
white stuff, which she put down carefully on a flat rock and then, just as they
had done, skinned out of her clothes and threw herself into the water with
them.
    "I would not five in the city for
anything," she declared, surfacing happily. "They have no pleasure as
simple and as rewarding as this."
    And Bragan, to his own surprise, felt that he
agreed with her. Hard work and fresh air and the utter sincerity of these two,
had peeled away some constricting layer of his being so that he felt new. It
was a pleasure, in a while, to scramble out on the bank and share with them the
business of making a foaming lather of the oil from the jar, even to let Ryth
take hold of his neck-muscles at the back and knead them strongly.
    "This
is where it gets you," she said. "I know. Usually I am the one who
sits and shears while Hork handles the mereens. There, that feels good, doesn't
it? And now, one more plunge to wash away the oil, and then dry and clean clothing.
And supper! It will be ready."
    Bragan discovered a huge appetite, and a
sense of satisfaction on top of being well-fed. To round it all off, Ryth
produced a jar of stuff that had a sour-sweet flavor not unlike apple wine.
    "We usually sit for a while on the grass
outside," she said, "and look at the sky-glow, and the