it was nearly dawn when retief gave the whistled signal he had agreed on with potter, then rose and walked into the camp circle. swazey stood up.

"there you are," he said. "we been wonderin' whether to go out after you."

lemuel came forward, one eye black to the cheekbone. he held out a raw-boned hand. "sorry i jumped you, stranger. tell you the truth, i thought you was some kind of stool-pigeon from the cdt."

bert came up behind lemuel. "how do you know he ain't, lemuel?" he said. "maybe he—"

lemuel floored bert with a backward sweep of his arm. "next cotton-picker says some embassy johnny can cool me gets worse'n that."

"tell me," said retief. "how are you boys fixed for wine?"

"wine? mister, we been livin' on stump water for a year now. 'dobe's fatal to the kind of bacteria it takes to ferment likker."

"try this." retief handed over a sqat jug. swazey drew the cork, sniffed, drank and passed it to lemuel.

"mister, where'd you get that?"

"the flap-jacks make it. here's another question for you: would you concede a share in this planet to the flap-jacks in return for a peace guarantee?"

at the end of a half hour of heated debate lemuel turned to retief. "we'll make any reasonable deal," he said. "i guess they got as much right here as we have. i think we'd agree to a fifty-fifty split. that'd give about a hundred and fifty oases to each side."

"what would you say to keeping all the oases and giving them the desert?"

lemuel reached for the wine jug, eyes on retief. "keep talkin', mister," he said. "i think you got yourself a deal."

consul passwyn glanced up at retief, went on perusing a paper.

"sit down, retief," he said absently. "i thought you were over on pueblo, or mud-flat, or whatever they call that desert."

"i'm back."

passwyn eyed him sharply. "well, well, what is it you need, man? speak up. don't expect me to request any military assistance, no matter how things are...."

retief passed a bundle of documents across the desk. "here's the treaty. and a mutual assistance pact declaration and a trade agreement."

"eh?" passwyn picked up the papers, riffled through them. he leaned back in his chair, beamed.

"well, retief. expeditiously handled." he stopped, blinked at retief. "you seem to have a bruise on your jaw. i hope you've been conducting yourself as befits a member of the embassy staff."

"i attended a sporting event," retief said. "one of the players got a little excited."

"well ... it's one of the hazards of the profession. one must pretend an interest in such matters." passwyn rose, extended a hand. "you've done well, my boy. let this teach you the value of following instructions to the letter."

outside, by the hall incinerator drop, retief paused long enough to take from his briefcase a large buff envelope, still sealed, and drop it in the slot.

the end