He darted glances to right and left but there was nothing near him except the six little animals. The yellow one, having spoken, was staring silently at him with only curiosity on its furry face. He wondered if some miasma or some scent from the vegetation in the valley had warped his mind into sudden insanity and asked:

“You think you’ll do what?”

It opened its mouth again, to stutter, “I⁠—I⁠—” Then, with a note of alarm, “ Hey.⁠ ⁠… ”

It said no more and the next sound was that of Barber hurrying toward him and calling, “Hey⁠—Bill⁠—where are you?”

“Here,” he answered, and he was already sure that he knew why the little animal had spoken to him.

Barber came up and saw the six chipmunk-bears. “Six of them!” he exclaimed. “There’s one in the next cave⁠—the damned thing spoke to me!”

“I thought so,” he replied. “You told it we’d have it for supper and then it said, ‘You think you’ll do what?’ didn’t it?”

Barber’s face showed surprise. “How did you know that?”

“They’re telepathic between one another,” he said. “The yellow one there repeated what the one you spoke to heard you say and it repeated what the yellow one heard me say. It has to be telepathy between them.”

“Telepathy⁠—” Barber stared at the six little animals, who stared back with their fascinated curiosity undiminished. “But why should they want to repeat aloud what they receive telepathically?”

“I don’t know. Maybe at some stage in their evolution only part of them were telepaths and the telepaths broadcasted danger warnings to the others that way. So far as that goes, why does a parrot repeat what it hears?”