Valentine spun out of reach.
The referee trotted up, pistol held pointed at the Grog. "Back to our side! Back!"
The Grog emptied a nostril at the referee and turned away.
The referee lowered his gun, looked at Valentine from beneath a sweat-dripping brow. "You, sir, are one dumb son of a bitch. Congratulations."
"Thank you," Valentine said, rubbing his wrist.
Ahn-Kha loomed up. "My David!"
"I'm fine. A little bruised."
The Dispatcher and Zak joined them, the former with the basketball, the latter holding Valentine's clothes.
"What did you yell?" Valentine asked, remembering the scream from the sidelines. "He forgot all about me."
"I accused his mother of the lowest-caste choice of mates," Ahn-Kha said. "Such an insult can only result in a duel. He started to answer me when you ran."
"Maybe you'd better stay in camp when David goes to collect his share."
"Share?" Valentine asked.
"You won. A portion of the recovered herd is yours."
"And I owe you a great debt," Zak said. "Dispatcher, may I go along and collect my sister?"
"Go in my place. But keep away from the Grog. One blood contest a season is enough."
* * * *
The Wildcats fell back from their side of the field as they crossed, Valentine holding the basketball up as though it were a torch per Zak's instruction.
A huge legworm, longer than the one Valentine had ridden into the Bulletproof camp, led six unreined worms onto the contest field. Valentine watched them pull up soil, weeds, and hay stubble like plows.
Three riders sat astride the broad back, in the "flying carpet" sidesaddle-seat Valentine was beginning to recognize.
"That's Tikka, she's the reiner," Zak said.
Tikka had sun-washed, caramel-colored hair, plumed into a lusher version of the foxtail her brother wore, and the tan, wind-burned face of a woman who seldom knew a roof. The man behind her was shirtless, with bandages wrapped around his midsection. The third rider, a beefy, gray-haired woman, evidently kept the tradition of the third rider being older.
"Watch the whiskers on the unreined legworms," Zak advised Valentine. "Tikka! Look at the trouble you caused," he called.
She dismissed him with a wave. "Talk to the herd."
Zak turned to Valentine. "The Dispatcher won't allow us to ride together. Too many brawls."
"I thought it was cousins who liked to fight in these parts."
Zak winked. "Fight... or kiss. Fact is, I don't feel guilty about either. I'm adopted."
* * * *
Valentine spent the day mildly worried. Duvalier had tucked a note in his pack
Checking out the other camp
Back tonight