anything. Maybe you’re right, Mudge. Maybe she does
want to strike off on her own, but she’d have told us first.”
“Wot for?” wondered Mudge sarcastically. “To spare
you from worryin’ about ‘er? Maybe she don’t like long
good-byes. Not that it matters. You’ve seen ‘ow big this
town is. Wot can we do about it?”
“Wait until morning,” Jon-Tom said decisively. “We
can’t do much without sleep, and it’ll be good to sleep on
something that doesn’t roll and pitch.”
“Me sentiments exactly, mate.”
“In the morning we’ll make some inquiries. You’re
good at making inquries, Mudge. Like finding that orang
to tell us the way to Crancularn.”
“Cor, some ‘elp > was.” He pointed wildly backward.
“That way! ‘Ow ‘elpftil! That may be the most I can find
out about the girl. I don’t know why you bother, mate. I
thought the main thing was gettin’ that dope back to
Clothy-wothy.”
“Check on the girl first. She may be in some kind
of trouble. I’ll let her go her own way, but I want to make
sure that’s what she wants. I want her to say it to me.”
148
Alan Dean Poster
Mudge looked disgusted. “It’s your funeral, mate. Just
don’t make it mine, too.”
They slept soundly. In the morning they began checking
the clothing stores in the area. Yes, a girl of that descrip-
tion had been into several of the shops and then had moved
on. The trail halted abruptly at the eighth shop. Beyond it,
Folly had not been seen.
“Face it, mate, she’s gone off on ‘er lonesome.”
“One last try.” Jon-Tom nodded toward the corner,
where a pair of uniformed skunks were lounging. Civil