That beautiful mountain, that lush green valley, gave me a feeling of déjà vu. Then I placed it: Mount Hood in the land of my birth back on old Earth, as I had first seen it as a young man. But this valley, this snowcapped peak, had never before been seen by men.

I called out to Buck to halt the march. "Dorable, we're home; in sight of it, somewhere down in that valley."

'Home,'" she repeated. "Oh, my darling!"

"Don't sniffle."

"I wasn't sniffling!" she answered, smiling. "But I've got an awful good cry saved up and when I get time to, I'm going to use it."

"All right, dear," I agreed, "when you have time. Let's name that mountain 'Dora Mountain.'"

She looked thoughtful. "No, that's not its name. That's Mount Hope. And all this below is Happy Valley."

"Durable Dora, you're incurably sentimental."

"You should talk!" She patted her belly, swollen almost to term. "That's Happy. Valley because it's where I'm going to have this hungry little beast...and that's Mount Hope because it is."

Buck had come back to the first wagon and was waiting to find out why we had stopped. "Buck," I said, pointing, "that's home out there. We made it. Home, boy. Farm."

Buck looked out over the valley. "Ogay."

-in his sleep, Minerva. Not lopers, there wasn't a mark on Buck. Massive coronary, I think, although I didn't cut him open to find out. He was simply old and tired. Before we left, I had tried to put him to pasture with John Magee. But Buck didn't want that. We were his family, Dora and Beulah and I, and he wanted to come along. So I made him mule boss and didn't work him-I mean I never rode him and never had him in harness. He did work, as mule boss, and his patient good judgment got us safely to Happy Valley.

We would not have made it without him.

Maybe he could have lived a few years longer turned out to pasture. Or he might have pined away from loneliness soon after we left. Who's to judge?

I didn't even consider butchering him; I think Dora would have miscarried it I had so much as broached the idea. But it is foolish to bury a mule when lopers and weather will soon take care of his carcass. So I buried him.

It takes an hellacious big hole to bury a mule; If it hadn't been soft river-bottom loam, I'd be there yet.

But first I had to deal with personnel problems. Ken was just junior to Beulah in the water queue and was a steady, strong mule who talked fairly well. On the other hand, Beulah had been Buck's straw boss the whole trek-but I could not recall a gang of mules bossed by a mare.

Minerva, with H. sapiens this would not matter, at least not today on Secundus. But with some sorts of animals it does matter. A boss elephant is female. A boss chicken is, a cock, not a hen. A boss dog can be either sex. In a breed where sex controls the matter a man had better by a damn sight go along with their ways.

I decided to see if Beulah could swing it, so I told her to line 'em up for harness, both as a test and because I wanted to move the mules out of sight while I buried Buck-they were nervy and restless; the boss mule's death had upset them.

I don't 'know what mules think about death, but they are not indifferent to it.

She promptly got busy, and I kept an eye on Kenny. He accepted it, took his usual place by Daisy. Once I had them harnessed, Beulah was the only one left over, three mules dead now.

I told Dora that I Wanted them moved a few hundred meters away. Would she handle it, with Beulah as march boss? Or would she feel safer if I did it?-and ran into a second problem: Dora wanted to be present when I buried Buck. More than that-"Woodrow, I can help dig. Buck was my friend, too, you know."

I said, "Dora, I'll put up with anything at all from a pregnant woman except allowing her to do something that would hurt her."

"But, dearest, I feel okay, physically-it's just that I'm dreadfully upset over Buck. So I want to help."

"I think you are in good shape, too, and I want you to stay that way. You can help best by staying in the wagon. Dora, I haven't any' way to take care of a premature baby, and I don't want to have to bury a baby as well as Buck."

Her eyes widened. "You think that would happen?"

"Sweetheart, I don't know. I've known women to hang onto babies under unbelievable hardships. I've seen others lose babies for no reason that I could see. The only rule I have about it is: Don't take unnecessary chances. This one is not necessary."

So once again we replanned things to suit both of us, though it took an extra hour. I unshackled the second wagon and set up the fence again, put the four goats inside the fence, and left Dora in that wagon. Then I drove the first wagon three or four hundred meters away, unharnessed the mules, and told Beulah to keep them together-and told Ken to help her, and left Fritz to help her, too, and took Lady MacBeth with me to watch for lopers or whatever. The visibility was good-no brush, no high grass; the place looked like a tended park. But I was going to be down in a hole; I didn't want something sneaking up on me or on the wagon. "Lady Macbeth. High sentry. Up!"

By agreement Dora stayed in the wagon.

It took all that day to take care of our old friend, with a stop for lunch and a few short breaks for water and to catch my breath in the shade of the wagon-breaks I shared with Lady Mac, letting her get down each time I came up. Plus one interruption-It was rnidafternoon and I had dug almost enough hole when Lady Mac barked for me. I was up out of that hole fast, blaster in hand, expecting lopers.

Just a dragon- I wasn't especially surprised, Minerva; the well-cropped state of the turf, almost like a lawn, seemed to indicate dragon rather than prairie goat. Those dragons are not dangerous unless one happens to fall on you. They are slow, stupid, and strictly vegetarian. Oh, they're ugly enough to be frightening; they look like six-legged triceratops. But that's all. Lopers left them alone because biting armor is unrewarding.

I joined Dora at the wagon. "Ever seen one, hon?"

"Not up close. Goodness, it's huge."

"It's a big one, all right. But it will probably turn away. I won't waste a charge on it if I don't have to."

But the durned thing did not turn away. Minerva, I think it was so stupid that it mistook the wagon for a lady dragon.

Or the other way around, it is hard to tell male from female. But they are definitely bisexual; two dragons humping is a remarkable sight.

When it got within a hundred meters, I let myself out the fence and took Lady Mac along, as she was quiveringly eager. I doubt if she had ever seen one; they were cleaned out around Top Dollar long before she was whelped. She danced up to it, barking but wary.

I hoped that Lady would cause it to turn aside, but this misshapen rhinoceros paid no attention; it lumbered slowly along, straight for the wagon. So I tickled it with my needle gun between where it should have had lips, to get its attention. It stopped, astounded I think, and opened its mouth wide. That was what I needed, as I did not want to waste maximum power blasting through that armored hide. So-Blaster at minimum, right into its mouth: Scratch one dragon.

It stood there a moment, then slowly collapsed. I called Lady and went back to the fence. Dora was waiting. "May I go look at it?" I glanced at the Sun. "Sweetheart, I'm going to be pushed to take care of Buck before dark, then fetch the mules back and move us on a way. Unless you are willing to bivouac, with the grave on one side and a dead dragon on the other?"

She did not insist, and I got back to work. In another hour I had it deep enough and wide enough-got out block-and-tackle, a triple purchase, secured it to the rear axle, tied Buck's hind feet together, hooked over the tie and took up the slack.