<p> Hair of Gold</p><p>Dai Alanye</p><p>~</p><p>Copyright 2012 by Dai Alanye</p><p>Aardbassett Books</p><p>~</p><p>Hair of Gold is an original work of fiction. All characters, locations, things and incidents are creations of the writer's imagination. Any resemblances to actual happenings or to persons living or dead are strictly coincidental. The book is offered free for your enjoyment and to promote interest in my other works. Feel free to share Hair of Gold with other readers, but don't alter anything. After all, why meddle with perfection? ~~</p><p>Hair of Gold</p><p>Chapter the 1st ~ Ride!</p><p>For two days rough strangers had lurked near our homestead, spying on us from brush and behind trees—shifty-looking men with weapons at hand. It had all to do, my mother felt, with the old wanderer we had taken in. Him and his map. "Food and drink are here," she said, indicating a bag tied behind the saddle. "Mind you wrap the remains well, for it must sustain you two days." "But Mum—surely I can make Caldridge by tomorrow eve." "And risk founder or worse? Drive the horse too hard and you'll be riding shank's mare, and we out a good gelding—do you hear?" "Yes," said I, sullen-like. She gave me a sharp look. "Ride and walk, ride and walk." "I know, Mother." And shall you never let me go? * * *</p><p>I say taken in—that wayworn soul—but forced himself in would be more correct. I'd found him lying nigh a tree beyond our north border on Cardan land. Truth to tell, I hesitated to come up to him, but upon seeing me he called out. "Oi, there! Help, please. Show charity for a poor old man what's lost his way." His voice squeaked and quavered with what seemed weakness, and he was thin and dirty and beggarly-looking—an unpleasant sight. I slowly approached on Brownie, stopping beside but staying mounted. "What would you have me do, sir?" "Just lets he..." He struggled to his feet, clambering up the tree—a spiny one that must have pricked his skin. "If you guides him to a road or track..." He rested one hand on my saddle skirt, then grasped my leg—fingers sinking in, his expression going from meek to fierce in a blink. I screamed and kicked but his grip held iron-strong. "Silence! Silence all," he rasped. "You has another choice, but not a good one." A knife appeared in his other hand. Though rusted and nicked, I'd no doubt it would still do its work. Without thinking long I decided to soothe him, waiting for my chance to escape. "Now, younker," he said, "you takes him to some place of shelter and safety I'm sure, for Abel don't likes to cut a lad, but he'll do what he must." I turned for home, my horse ambling and him stumbling alongside, muttering to me or maybe to himself, always in third person. "He's got the key, does Abel, and none other. He knows, he does. But there's them what thinks they deserves it. No, no—twon't be, not while he's got life in him." And much more I hardly recall. His voice caught in his throat, and he cackled from time to time. He had nothing but the clothes he wore, and cracked, worn boots—all in poor shape. On his back a blanket roll, and at his waist a drooping sack. Aye, only those and the knife, which seemed bigger by the minute as we went toward home—a long ride and a longer walk for someone in his condition. Yet he made it. At our blockhouse he ate sparingly as though accustomed to short rations by a long siege of starvation, but drank enough for two or three men—always demanding beer, and looking on water as little more than poison, whether applied internally or without. He slept and lay on his bedroll in the stable, rarely rising except for calls of nature, content with the company of horses and ponies. "He must get his power back—his strengths up. Then we'll see, won't we? Beer, blast you! Must he die of thirst?" His mind would wander a bit before all began again. "Twas dry out there, by Ecol, with but a sip of dew for him to get by on, and the sun with no pity. Rain? Aye, he'd be rained upon, and snowed or hailed on, too, like as not. For you see, er... Val-boy, the weather it likes to be contrary, and when he was wet twould make him wetter, and cold, colder, and when dry... Ah, that were worst of all. Beer, if you pleases, now. Help old Abel get his consitooshun going again." Inside a fortnight he was dead—a hard death, with him wild and carrying on about his map and riches. What traps he had remained in our hands as payment for care of him—and the map, too, little though we could make of it. Scarcely under sod, he was, when a man of malign countenance came knocking and calling at our door—unkempt and shabby, but with a great long knife in a sheath at his waist. After questioning through the port, our man Kieran decided to admit him, and the fellow entered to be interviewed by my mother, while Kieran stood to one side with a pistol in his hand, and it loaded and primed. "Thankee, Lady," he said, bowing and tugging at his hat, giving her a high title by way of flattery. "Preciate it, one does." His bold voice rang off the bare high-ceilinged stone walls. "You are not from nearby—what want you, with arriving unannounced?" "Yes, Lady, I'll come to my point right off. Now, it's not of great matter, but I be looking for one Abel DeGroot, a man of advanced years. Barley-water they sometimes calls him, on account he likes his beer, not hard drink as do most. White-haired he should be, of age, and often a great white beard. Not a man of fine, er, sensibilities as it were, but better eddycated than one might think. He'd been wandering in this area, as I hears. So, have you seen such a one, I'm wondering?" "Why do you inquire after him? Do you mean him harm?" "Why, no, Lady, not in the least. I'm cut, I am, to think... Rough-looking might I be, but I assures you he, uh... He's a mate of mine from far back, and I wants to aid him, by way of old times' sake. That's all." "You hardly look able to aid yourself, much less anyone else. What are you named?" The man's expression changed at this, my mother told me later. I'd been forbidden the parlor, and could only make out snippets from around the corner. He drew himself up. "Appearances might deceive a soul, Mam, for though I've gone down in the world, I'm not altogether without, er, resources. My name... My name is... Guide Querrel McCombs, if it please you." "Whence do you hail, Guide McCombs?" "I am not from hereabouts, Mam." "So I knew right off. From whereabouts do you hail?" She had already made up her mind to refuse him, with his unlikely tale and made- up name, and an unlikely profession besides, for Guide is an honorable calling. Not bothering to press him further, she told him she knew nothing of DeGroot, and sent Guide McCombs on his way. Twas obvious he doubted her, she could tell by his expression—and the lurkers gave proof of it. Now I must ride for help, and leave by dark so as to be undetected. * * *</p><p>"Give your uncle my note, and tell him what you can, making sure he sends hardy armed men as soon as may be done." "Should I not ride the faster, Mum? Is it not more sense to..." "Do as I say! They lurk and spy now—when they hide themselves better, we'll worry the more. Up now, and God with you." As I mounted she called, "Ready to snuff torches." She checked me. "Remember to duck your head as you go out—you've but the one to last your whole life." "Of course," I muttered. "Kieran?" The torches were capped, and a rank smoldering spread throughout the stable. He made his way to the outside door and eased the bar free—standing by the latch, ready to slide it open. Mother caressed my cheek, then closed the lantern she held. In pitch dark I heard the door grate open, showing a lighter patch before me. Brownie stepped unerringly through, and I turned him to walk round the building end. My limbs quivered and my breaths came shallow—you may judge whether from the cool of night or my fears and excitements. At the corner I nudged my horse into a quicker pace, heading south toward the road, the extreme darkness as well as my mother's admonitions discouraging me from higher speed. Not even a star shone to guide me, the clouds being low and thick, a breeze ever so slightly rustling in the trees. It was near black a night as can be, and I strained my eyes to pierce it. We'd not gone thirty yards when darker blobs moved before me, sending a trill of fear up my spine. Animals, monsters? Men! The spies were upon our land. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 2nd ~ Beginnings</p><p>I have been taught to start a story at the beginning, unless there be good reason. So this will be the beginning—not the beginning of me, for that would be of no interest, I being only a babe then. Instead, this will tell how events that would make me half an orphan began on the fourteenth of Midyear, the saddest day of my life. It tells of my adventure, and how I became full-grown though yet a child in years, through hardship and sadness and striving. And I hope any who read this may not suffer as I and my family suffered in those times. I, the recorder, am Valys Clercal, named Val or Lyss by friends and family, and a lineal descendant of the first Clercal who was banished to these wild lands as perverse reward for his rebelliousness. Or, rather, to gloss over the shortsightedness of the proconsuls of his day. He took the name as a sort of defiance of the authorities and high ones, and to deny that any shame beset himself. At this tale's beginning I had celebrated fifteen years, and would enter upon personal independence and be of marriageable age in but three more, an anniversary I greatly longed for. * * *</p><p>Our stead of Wilderedge lies on the brink of desert land, west and north of Redhills Burg—the capital of Redhills district. To the north into the mountains the land becomes barren and deadly cold in winter. To west it is nearly the same, and we sit nigh the edge of the district on those sides. Yet we enjoy good earth and heavy crops in general, with plenty of rain from the clouds striving to top the mountains. Our soil is dark like most of the Red Hills, except for that one distinctive area, famed not merely by the color of its earth but for the ore of iron dug from it. Wilderedge being far toward the sparse-settled western end of the district, there existed no way to reach it but a dirt and graveled track from the east, suitable for wagons part of the year, or by foot of man or animal during the rest. Indeed, though we had some wealth and carried goods to and from Redhills Burg, during foul seasons my father must mount his horse and spare the wagons, unless he cared to risk damage on the rough and rutted track by our home. And on the road this tale takes its start. We had a near neighbor, one Darryl Cardan, whose holding lay—due to the twists and turns of the hill-line—to east and north of ours. It measured, in fact, a much greater extent, stretching from the road into the hills far deeper than ours, thereby bordering us to the east and hanging over us to the north. But his home stood well back into the stead, and must be reached by a long path of his own, more rutted and worse-made than the road. Now it came to pass that the government of Northway, our state, took it in their minds to build and pave a true street to replace the rough track our stead had used from the first land-breaking five generations gone. Instead of pebbles and mud it would have a stone foundation, ditches to carry away the rains, bridges and culverts and causeways to pass the runnels and streams and marshes, with cobbles or cut stone to top all—full fifty-odd miles to meet the end of pavement down-road. A glorious thing is a full-paved street, and one of high expense. My father wondered greatly at the governors' doing. And here I must say a word of our method of rule. Two parties vie for office. These men—one hundred-twenty of them—meet time-to- time at Parley House to decide laws and taxes and policies and justice—but not war. We rarely contend for general domination or to advance one faith above another. As for borders and resources, however—mines, fishing grounds, rich districts—we quarrel over those often enough, greed being a universal in the human character. * * *</p><p>On that sad morning, my father ordered me to linger near home, then rode toward our neighbor, the infamous Cardan. Accustomed always to stay by him—for I remained long the only child and his pride and favorite—I disobeyed and took my way by a different route. When he went beyond sight I urged my little horse to a fast pace—and circling round, cut his trail inside the oilnut plantation that borders our land on the east. At a careful distance I followed, and saw him ride onto the other land. On the hillside above Cardan's land, inside the fringe of trees, I watched him ride halfway to the blockhouse—tying his horse among bushes a goodly hundred yards short and traveling on foot toward the stockade gates. He'd gone there on an errand of conflict, yet chose to pursue the ways of peace. The paving, he had learned, was to come to the entrance of Cardan's path, then abruptly turn and trace that path beyond Cardan stockade, and into the back-lands. The work, you see, was for Cardan's good, and to the injury of us. This Cardan was a member of Parley, having bribed and forced his way in, many electors seeing it to their advantage to back him. He went to Redhills twice per annum with the others, and over some few years gained much influence there. The new street was his corrupt bounty for years of political effort—effort expended largely, I suspect, in his own interest. Worse yet, to pay itself for the cost of street-building, the government condemned wide tracts of land parallel to the new pavement in order to sell them back to the owners or others. Even beside Cardan's path this held true. The route, we found, ran upon the very border of our land, more distant and seemingly inconvenient for Cardan. The reason soon became apparent. Though work had only begun near Redhills, tracts of both his land and ours were condemned—his mainly affecting rough pasture and ordinary plowed land. Ours took in near a quarter of the oilnut plantation, the mainstay of our livelihood and possible future wealth. Soon Cardan's land had returned to his ownership—bought cheap at secret sale— while ours remained in limbo, neither offered back to us nor put up for open sale. This matter my father hoped to settle face to face with Darryl Cardan, all previous attempts at negotiation having been ignored. Father stepped out, and when he reached partway there one gate opened, and an armed man stepped forth—Darryl Cardan himself, we later learned. He shouted and my father replied, still coming on. Cardan lifted his long-gun, and I saw a puff of smoke —and with the report my father fell as if pole-axed. You might imagine my feelings. I screamed something—I remember not what—and forced Brownie down the hillside. He made his way too cautiously for me on the steep, as I kicked his ribs and slapped him with the reins, but did his best, sliding on his haunches at spots. It seemed ages—and when we cleared the thick-set trees near the bottom, I could see my father up and running with great limping strides toward his horse. He ripped his long-gun from its sheath, and as he did, Cardan, having reloaded, managed to shoot again. The bullet struck the horse. It leaped, tearing loose from the bush and running off. I had slowed as I saw my father reach his steed, but now I raced forward, and as I did my father capped his gun, took aim and shot. When the smoke cleared Cardan could be seen caught in the act of reloading. He seemed to fold in the middle, his weapon for a moment supporting him—then sprawled upon the earth. I reached my father and leaped down. He knew what must be done, and with my help mounted. Another bullet flew by, cutting the leaves overhead, and we saw men running out of the gate. My father gestured me to the far side of Brownie, and off we went, me running as never before, the horse towing me along. Shots followed us but none came near as we reached the trees, working our way between and angling up the hillside. We came upon Father's horse, drooping against a tree-stem and bleeding its life away from a shot in the lungs. We waited till it fell, then by dint of much struggle I retrieved the saddle and all, and we made our slow sad way home. My father said but one thing to me before we reached the blockhouse. "You have never failed me, Valys." My heart swelled, and tears, till now withheld, ran down my face. * * *</p><p>My mother nursed him well, despite her caring for a babe in arms—my young brother. The ball had torn the muscles of the thigh, perhaps nicking the bone—and recovery took long despite my father's great will. Before he could walk without sticks a summons came for him to go to Redhills Burg for trial on a charge of willful murder. This must be false, for he'd done no more than manslaughter, and that after provocation. Yet he had failed to formally report it, an oversight claimed as proof of guilt. Still, we kept confident he would be found innocent, and on the trip he would stop at Inscher to gain my uncle's aid. His elder brother was Master of Caldridge Stead, the family home-abode, a large and rich holding this side of Inscher, and the spot where my father often stopped. Uncle belonged to Parley, and possessed wealth and influence. Though we—except Father—most never saw nor had many words from him, yet he would be of good aid, we assured ourselves. And so my father went, taken in a wagon by Kieran, and my mother and I stayed to manage the stead, grow our crops, tend our cattle, gather and process our oilnuts, and see them to market while my father languished in prison awaiting trial and during it. Matters went well enough at home, but we were never to see him again. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 3rd ~ Caldridge</p><p>Whether for good or ill I have always been headstrong and set to have my way— turn back I would not. Out with my pistol and pressing Brownie on, I charged into those black forms, driving between them. Some leaped away with startled shouts, but one reached for the reins, and I took aim and pressed the trigger. No fire! My pistol had failed me. Yet I broke through and turned left to take the road, skittering down it a ways to halt and hide behind a thick stand of bushes, well distant from those men. I knew on the instant my pistol's fault. My father demanded all folk use firearms with care. When carrying long-gun or pistol, it must be loaded and ready, but the hammer should be down, and no cap on the priming stud. I'd given it no thought, but now with gusty breaths and trembling hands I readied the pistol, making sure the little cap didn't fall— clinching it on the stud. Taking one further deep breath I urged Brownie forward and around the end of the bushes. My sight grew better now, somewhat accustomed to the dark, and I could almost make out those men as they readied an attack on our home. I knew I must give warning, and nothing would serve better than a shot. I cocked the hammer and set Brownie into a lope, hoping the thick sward would muffle his hoof-beats. I pointed him at the end of the stable, and as we passed the gang I aimed across my horse's neck at the nearest form, not ten yards distant. The discharge sounded like thunder to my ears, and the flash blinded my left eye. We charged on, and within a few paces a gun went off, either inside or out. I heard a shout of pain, and knew—someone outside had been hit. My family was alert to the threat—had readied themselves even as I rode. I turned behind the stable wing, uncertain whether to stay and protect my home or continue the ride. Besides Kieran and my mother, both of whom could shoot well, four field-men roomed within, and two house-women—with four long-guns and some pistols among them. Each side could have at least a sentry to watch and warn, and the house reared stone-built with thick walls, the lower story having no windows but high ports out of which to spy and shoot. The enemy could never break in, though fire could breach the doors or set the roof ablaze. The answer seemed clear—though well defended for a short siege, we needed assistance more than ever. I would go on. I loaded and capped, then guided Brownie to swing wide past the corner. This time I aimed him into the mass, planning to ride them down. We broke into them, causing a flurry as they dodged. One clutched at me, and I pressed the muzzle to him and fired, a fighting madness upon me. Something struck my head a blow nigh to split it, and I reeled and grabbed at the saddle horn, near dropping the pistol. But we made through and onto the road again, my smarting head leading me to give Brownie free rein. Soon I took thought to stop and reload, and to let both horse and myself catch breath. I rammed in powder and ball and—ignoring my father's instructions in this hard case—primed the pistol and eased the hammer down. I fingered my head, sure to feel the blood running down yet finding only the beginning of a large knot—and very tender, too. So! I put Brownie into a trot, keeping to the grassy verge for sake of quiet. We'd not gone far before another thought came to me. I dismounted, leading the horse slowly and quietly, listening and peering through the darkness for all I was worth. I began to notice the breeze, chilling me as it dried my sweat. The noises of a few bugs caught my ears, and the call of a night-flier. The leaves rustled and our footsteps thumped—or so it seemed. Before long my caution was rewarded, for a faint light shone as I rounded a broad turn. A bit farther and there appeared men around a great fire—a blocking force, no doubt, to make sure none escaped the attack on our house. The position had been chosen well, at the ford of a wide stream near the far edge of Cardan's holding. Should one go upstream or down he might find himself at a deep channel or pond. Perhaps there existed other fords or shallow crossings, but I knew not where. I set myself thinking how to get past. Easing Brownie forward I got to within twenty-odd yards when a horse whinnied, and I stopped dead. By good fortune Brownie made no reply. "Hear! Whassat?" cried one, armed with a pike. "Tom—go forrard and I'll back you." "I'll back you," the other said, but neither moved, and I considered they might have been left here for being too timid in an attack. Two men stood near the fire, feeding a hot blaze to keep up their spirits, not being wise sentries who would hide in silence. I made out a sturdy rope drawn tight between trunks on either side of the road, a dangerous obstacle to any horseman. It stretched high, designed perhaps to catch an adult on a large steed. I might well duck under it, but the thought of being proved wrong while traveling at high speed tempered my enthusiasm for racing past. As my mother had said, having but one head I should take good care, especially with it being already well-struck this night. What weapons did they carry? The one trailed a pike, and the other might have one leaning somewhere. I saw no long-guns, nor could I make out pistols, though such might be hidden under their smocks. Knives of a certainty they carried, as well. Had I two pistols... Or could I sneak up, shoot one then scamper off and reload? A chancy thing, for misfires do occur, and I would need to be close to be sure of my shot, the more-so at night. Nothing could be worse than missing, and thereby alerting them and others who might be nearby, perhaps napping. Besides, it smacked of cold-blooded assassination. However practical it should be, I hesitated to do it. Dismounting, I pushed Brownie back to hide him by a bush, tied the reins to a stem and slipped forward to learn more—my pistol cocked and ready, and wishing I had inkberries to darken face and hands. Step by step, breathing shallow and senses alert, I eased off the road into the woods to view them at the flank. Yes, two men in sight, and both nerved up. The one stirred the fire and tossed on another limb, sending sparks flying. Every moment I feared to be seen, yet the fire lit but a small area, and dulled their night vision to boot. Back then, and to the other side of the road for the same. You may imagine my feelings when they started at a night sound or stepped forward to get a better view. How I kept my head from spinning is near a miracle. And every moment listening for the others to return and trap me from behind. Now rain began from those lowering clouds, slow heavy drops becoming a moderate shower. It increased my misery, I don't mind saying. But soon I saw it would aid me, for they shrank back under a thick tree toward the south, and the slight patter would cover my movements. I waited till I could wait no more, thinking of my family's need of aid—and of my little brother, no doubt afrighted from the ruckus, and clutching his mum's skirts. I must run the gantlet, come what might. Over again to the first side, the farthest from where they sheltered, and stretching up full while holding on a limb with my left hand, I sawed at the rope round the tree trunk, going slow and delicate and feeling often, until but a few strands remained. Thus, even if it caught me, likely it would break straightaway, with slight injury to my neck. Before mounting I led Brownie back several yards so as to gain room to get him up to a fair pace. Forward! I urged, and we sped down the road, I ducking behind his neck. The line passed overhead, and the men rushed out with their pikes, one behind the other. I stretched out my arm and fired, but who or what was hit I know not. Perhaps they hesitated at the flash and bang, for no point touched either me or my horse, and we raced through the ford, water splashing higher than my head. We dashed on for near to a mile, only slowing for breath when far beyond range of man or bullet, and keeping at a quick pace half an hour more. Not until then could I relax and brood over what had passed this night, salving my conscience with the excuse that any bloodshed had been in defense of self and home. * * * On we went through hours of dark, riding and walking, riding and walking. Brownie began to droop from fatigue, and I drooped as well. After first light the road crossed a stream, and here I watered him, loosening the girth. He nibbled at leaves, and I put two handfuls of grain on a flat rock for him. I drank from my bottle and ate somewhat of my mother's provisions—but not much, my belly too taut for appetite. We rested, and I would have rested longer—but when sunlight gilded the treetops a restlessness came upon me. I tightened Brownie's girth and led him on. Before long I mounted and rode briskly forward, concern in the back of my mind but my heart light despite a tired body. The sun rose higher and the road wound about and ran up and down, each turn or hilltop bringing new but tantalizingly familiar scenes, for I'd been to Inscher years back at my father's side. The thought of him drained part of the joy from me, but being young, new thoughts soon came to replace sad ones. On we went, and when the sun passed beyond its zenith, Caldridge came to view. I was allowed through the gate and into the yard, where I loosed Brownie's girth once more, letting him drink from a trough kept filled for the purpose. I tied him at the rail, and up the steps I ran to pound on the door and call for my uncle, the Master of Caldridge. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 4th ~ Abel DeGroot, His Map</p><p>"What have you got yourself up to, lass? I hardly knew you in such a rig. Have you permission, eh? Why have you come here in such a state?" My uncle seemed shocked, or at least disconcerted. "Sir," I cried out, "we are in need of relief. Men must be sent at once to Wilder..." "Now, now, what's this? Does your mother know what you are up to, eh?" "She sent me, sir. We are under attack." And so it went, with me pressing my errand, and my uncle hesitating and trying to get used to the idea I'd ridden to Caldridge in one stage. And when he understood, he shook his head, "Eh, now... Tilling and planting season—I've no spare men, no men. When is this attack expected, eh? Who would choose to attack Wilderedge, away out there, with so many richer targets close to hand?" "Please, sir, I had to fight my way through. They ringed our blockhouse, and I rode through them." "Fight! What do you mean by fight?" "I discharged my pistol three times, and heard firing from in the house, and shots rang in my ears as I rode off." He seemed to think me exaggerating or imagining, or my mother having the vapors, living at the edge of nowhere without a husband. The idea a young girl could fight her way past armed men proved hard for him to swallow. Why should we be attacked in any case? He knew of the Cardans, of course, but they had gained their ends and their revenge as well—therefore why and by whom were we being attacked? "It must be the map, we think." "Map, map! What's this?" I pulled it forth from my kit bag. "An old man I found—he kept it with him, and spoke much of riches and secrets." My uncle snatched it from me, and as he unwrapped and examined it his expression gradually changed. He pulled at a cord by the wall, shouting, "Joslin! Joslin!" The man hurried through the doorway, having been waiting outside. "Get Rothman! Move, man.... Wait! Come back. Get him—send him running. Then get clean clothing for..." He waved in my direction. "And close the door behind you, for Glory's sake!" He turned to me. "No women about—you must have boy's gear. Not much of a problem, seeing as it's what you're wearing." "Partly, sir. I..." But a knock came, and to my uncle's Enter! in came a man dressed for the field—Rothman, I supposed. "You know where Wilderedge lies—end of the west road?" "Been there once or twice, Master." "It's being attacked. Take six, eh... How many, child?" "A dozen or more I saw." "Eight men, Rothman, well armed and mounted. Ride there as swiftly as you may— don't stop for anything. Make sure the family's safe, and check the neighborhood for thieves and villains. Do what seems called for." "A goodly way, Master—better take spare horses." "Of course, man—do it without delay. Go on now... Go!" Rothman left, and in his wake came Joslin, bearing men's clothes that proved a bit large for me but served the purpose. "A drink, Joslin, for Val here. Drink and some hot broth." And when the man appeared poised to ask a question, my uncle added, ‘Well, go on, go on. Don't dally." As Joslin exited Uncle said to me. "The man's a timid fool. Where'd he be had I not taken him on, eh?" In time I came to learn Joslin was no fool nor timid either, but too deferential toward almost everyone, and too womanly in his habits to suit Uncle. Indeed, I came to learn many of Uncle's opinions should be taken with salt. He regularly denigrated his servants and hirelings, and demanded much of them, albeit treating them well enough otherwise. My uncle alternately held the map by a window for the light, and paced the room, working matters out."What do you make of this, eh?" he once asked, but neither Mother nor I had grasped the meaning of it. "It's as if, Val, he coded it in a strange fashion, or else knew nothing of cartography. Eh... I'm wagering the former." * * *</p><p>Joslin knocked and brought in a tray, and putting it down, smiled and whispered to me, "I've put a something more in your tea, young master. May you like it." "Joslin!" my uncle snapped. "Get Doctor Tannahill. I want him now—no delay. Say it's urgent and he must come at once. Hurry, man!" I called my thanks to Joslin as he left, and eagerly sipped. Ugh! It contained spirits, something I could never abide. I turned to the broth—good hearty beef that perked my feelings. Soon Joslin reported the doctor on his way, and in came the man himself not an hour after his summons—physician, surgeon, apothecary and medical Jack-of-all-trades and sciences in Inscher, the folk having no other to turn to short of Redhills Burg. "Well, Master, have you so great an urge for cribbage? You've forced me to leave a childbirth, and the poor woman in the hands of some dirty old wives." "Never you mind that, Doctor—here's your patient." "Eh? He looks well enough to me, sir, if in need of a good wash. Did you hurt yourself somewhere, boy?" Getting to my feet, I said, "Please sir..." But my uncle interrupted with loud laughter. "There's one on you, Doctor. It's my niece—in boys clothes, is all. I'll want you to have a look at her later, after she's bathed and donned clean gear, but first I've a puzzle to share with you. Look here." He showed him the map. "Well, what do you make of it, eh?" The doctor knitted his brows. "Little enough, I'll confess. Is it a sketch of something?" "You might say so, Doctor. It's a map." "Mmm? A strange one, then." "Strange indeed, for it's coded somehow—but I begin to solve it." "Few are better than you at puzzles, Master—I must admit." "Look here—what's this?" "A compass rose, but it's reversed east for west. Is the whole map reversed?" "I think not, Doctor. Rather this is a reminder it's been distorted—or to fool the casual eye. Now, what here?" "Swamps or marshes, by the symbols." "Lying parallel to one another?" "Yes." "Similar to mountains, or ranges of hills?" "Er... possibly." "Come up here, Valys. You've studied this enough, I warrant. What do you make of this feature, stretching along?" "A river, sir." "Yes, because of the tiny waves which should indicate falls or rapids. But is it not odd? It goes east, I suppose—what other thing might it be?" "It runs very straight for a river, sir. And... Well, if it's heading east, could it be the west road, and the rills indicating the larger fords? And the compass has been rotated, too, for west is north to it." "Indeed! My brother's child, Doctor—has she not a good head on her?" "Better than mine, in this instance. But give me a turn. Downstream this river runs first into a round lake or pond, and farther on into a squarish one. Following your lead, Master, and yours, lass or lad as you might be—the round would be Inscher, and the square Redhills Burg." "Quite so, quite so—you do well, Doctor. These marshes—what do they correspond to, eh? See here, this hook at the source of the river? It might be the track to your home, Val, down to the road, which ends there, does it not?" "Or Cardan's path, Uncle." "Perhaps, but of no importance. Look here, though, at the base of these marshes. See this dot, the only one I find among the reedy symbols? What if we took that portion of the map, and rotated it a right angle, aligning the dot with the end of the hook? I don't wish to cut it at this time, so you must use your mind's eye. What then would those marshy places be? You say, Doctor—don't let a lass precede you." "This easterly mass could be the Red Hills. And these others might, I suppose, be the uncharted north and west mountains or Bad Lands." "Eh, man... so I make it." "If, indeed, your original conjecture is true, sir." "Doctor, Doctor! Have some faith, man, for further proof is to come. See here, now." The doctor squinted, fumbling out spectacles and putting them on his nose. "It's an A and a T. At, Master. Something—who knows what—is at this place. Perhaps a mining claim—silver, gold, semi-precious gems... Or perhaps the delirious dream of a man half mad from thirst and isolation. Thin stuff for your imagination to work on, sir, I'm afraid." "Heh! You're a good seer, Doctor, but I believe I have you this time. What make you of it, Valys? Look close." I did, squinting full as much as the doctor. "Seems there's another dot there, Uncle." "Seems indeed!" A note of triumph sounded in his voice. "Look now." He uncovered a large magnifier and centered the letters under it. We peered, and the doctor said, "A dot, certainly, made of a small—very small— circle. Women often make such over their lowercase i's and j's—an affectation when corresponding." "Accurate, Doctor, and very scientific. It does credit to the dedication with which you pursue your profession. Eh... but what if I should interpret these scratches as A-oh- T? A-stop, o-stop, T-stop. What then, eh?" When we could give no answer my uncle flourished his arm. "Arrow of Time! What of that, sir and miss? What of that?" And surely we did know of that. But he went on. "The last ship from home, packed full of devices from a more advanced society. The richest cargo conceivable, and a great large ship, too. Barely got it away from its orbit around Old Earth, the survivors said." "Wonderful if true, Master." "Wonderful indeed, Doctor! How many searches have been made for it—how many expeditions mounted? How much money laid out, and lives, too? The old crew used up their youthful days searching and trying to find backing for more searches. Nary a one left alive now, of course—and your man, this Abel fellow..." He broke off, thinking hard. "Come to the library—more private." When we got there he scanned the shelves, pulling down a large volume, its pages stuffed with cuttings from old newspapers which he shuffled through—discarding most, glancing over others. "Ha! Here we have it. Let this be your additional proof, Doctor. What was the old man's name again, Val?" I told him, and he said, "Look for it, Doctor, among the names of the crew. Sing out if you find it—I fear to be disappointed." The doctor briefly read before saying in a hushed tone. "It's there—Abel DeGroot." * * *</p><p>How we exulted—in rasping whispers, for we must keep this secret—and how we re-read the report, and re-studied the map. The doctor warned it could all be a phantasm of our wishes, but even he could not withhold enthusiasm. It was the riches, of course, but even more the idea of a grand adventure. In a husky voice my uncle said, "I shall fit out an expedition with all dispatch. The finest equipment and the best men I can find—guidesmen, hillmen, hunters... hardy pioneering souls. No expense shall be spared, for that which we find will pay for all." "You'll need strong horses, of course." "Not at all, Doctor—you don't know the business. Mules, sir... Mules and plenty of them, for the ship was heavy-laden. And food and drink to get us past the desert, though it's all desert there, I doubt not. Weapons, of course, for who knows but what mountain bears and such might be found there. Do you see them where you live, lass?" "Rarely if ever, sir." "They dislike the presence of humans, but to disturb one is dangerous, so we'd best prepare for the worst. Tenting and bedding, a sun compass—for the ore beds add deviation to the magnetic ones, and as we make northing it will likely change in erratic fashion. Sure, who knows but what there'll be other iron deposits up there. Might be it helped mislead the early searchers." "Quite, Master, and if we understand this map they looked a hundred miles to the east. Odd, though, for the survivors claimed to know exactly where it crashed." "But they were not on it, Doctor, having coward-like piled into the lifeboat, leaving the officers to their fate. They claimed, of course, they'd been ordered to abandon, but who can know what truly happened. They came from the east—perhaps the pilot nursed a few more yards altitude, clearing another range of mountains before going down. Tis possible." "All in all I envy you, sir, whether you find her or not. It's a fine adventure." "No need for envy, Doctor. On such a difficult journey the possibility of injury is high—we shall want a physician with us. You must come and share the takings." "Oh, sir!" "You must, Doctor—I'll make it up to you if we fail to find her." The doctor did not wait long to decide, his face as red with excitement as my uncle's. "Thank you, sir. I'll somehow settle my practice and gladly go." "Splendid! And you, Valys—you will wish to come along?" My delight excelled, but before I could reply the doctor broke in. "Surely not! A young girl undertake such hardship?—I protest! Even were she strong enough, to place her in the company of men removed from civilizing influences is more danger than can be accepted." "But I'm strong, sir, and a good rider." "That's as might be, but are you a good mule driver? And where is your protection to come from? There will be times when it's every man for himself, and who will look after you then?" "Myself, sir, for I can shoot—I've hunted often for pests and such-like. I've burned many a pint of powder, and spent many a pound of shot." He tried for a kindly tone, shaking his head. "Shooting game, you must realize, is far different from aiming at men." "But I've done that too, sir," I said, ashamed at having to boast of such a thing, but not intending to let pass any argument in my behalf. "What are you dreaming of?" "True enough, Doctor, if you believe her tale of coming here. She claims to have broken three caps, and one a sure hit. She's not such a novice, you see—and in any case, her mother will want someone to look after their interests. Eh, she'll be useful for us, running errands and the like, and we needn't over-burden her. I say she'll do." "Even so, sir, even so—to take a female among a rough crew, and who knows how many might turn out to be felons or cutthroats... It's a dangerous thing with men who haven't been around females for some time." He turned to me. "Have you, er... That is, are you a woman as yet?" "For near a year," I admitted with a blush. "There you are, sir," he said. "A bit late to be thinking her child's years will protect her." My uncle, a man not easily thwarted of his will, rubbed his chin. "Eh, now... One thing, Doctor. She could travel as a boy." I put my oar in. "True, Doctor, you could not tell me at first." "At first, yes, but I soon should have, be assured of that. But with your dirty face and men's clothing—yes, and your hair cut short... Why do you wear it so?" "For convenience while riding and working, sir. It is fine and snarls often—to spend time combing out half a yard of hair seems nonsense for the life we lead." "Well, Doctor?" asked my uncle. I broke in before he could answer. "I fooled Joslin, too. He addressed me as a boy." "I dislike it, sir, but the choice is yours not mine. Yet you had better keep it a good secret, and not only on the trail but starting now. Who in this house knows her sex?" "If Joslin is in the dark, I think none, Doctor." Now came a thought that dismayed me. Those men who had galloped off to Wilderedge... They would doubtless speak to my mother, and she would doubtless ask after me, possibly using the fatal word daughter. Each and every one would know! My only hope was to intercept them on their return, and swear each to secrecy before my uncle or the doctor spoke to any. What a tangle! But as stated earlier, I was headstrong —I would keep up the imposture as long as feasible. "So be it then," said Doctor Tannahill. "Let it be on your head. But now to another matter, Master. When it comes to keeping secrets, there is one among us who is a celebrated failure at it." My uncle blushed deeply, turning to the window. Looking at it, he spoke. "I know your meaning, Doctor, and acknowledge the fault. Sad to say, I am prone to gossip far too much, and it has at times brought me some dismay... I can only say I will watch my tongue as never before—the stakes are too high to do otherwise." "Good enough, sir, and let us now plan out times and materials." "Fine, Doctor, but let me dispose of one thing. You, las... You, lad, must go bathe and change. I will have Joslin arrange all, and assign you a room, and shall order him to give you complete privacy. The doctor must examine you to make sure you are well and have no hidden hurts. Fair enough?" I nodded, and he turned to the bell cord, but the doctor halted him. "How are we to address this... this boy? What is his name to be?" "I think, ah... I think Wil. It is close enough to her... to his name, and we shall soon become used to his being of the male sex. True enough? Very well, then." He pulled the cord for Joslin. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 5th ~ Preparations</p><p>Uncle summoned Joslin, telling him to show Wil Clercal to his room, in which a bath should be set up—one of those called a hip-bath. A mat was put under it for spills, and an extra bucket of warm water provided for rinsing. Only my hair gave a problem, but I combed it thoroughly to remove any visitors, either quick or inanimate. After donning the well-worn but comfortable workman's dress, so tired had I become that a brief nap seemed wise. The bed felt soft, and twas easy to pull a corner of the comforter over me. When I awoke all shone black—the clouds having remained with us, and no light coming through the room's one window. After much yawning and stretching I retrieved my shoes and felt for the door. The hall, and indeed the whole manor, looked dark as a mine except for a few long-burning candles which had been dipped, it could be, from the wax of our own oilnuts. Not a soul was up, so finding my way back to room and bed, I stripped and crawled beneath the covers. Sleep now fled me, and I spent much of the night in waking and dreaming. Fears for my family and home tormented me, and scenes from my wild ride ran again through my mind. I thought also of my father's execution and my uncle's help. Lack of help, I should say, for though my mother rarely expressed herself, I knew her anger at what she considered my uncle's failure. Father had ridden to Caldridge to beg his brother's assistance, then on to Redhills Burg for trial. Uncle promised aid, and my father sorely needed it, for Cardan bribes had preceded him and caused his indictment. His letters reflected increasing disillusionment as time passed—and aid from my uncle, whatever it might have been, failed to have good effect. He was found guilty, his appeal rejected—sentenced to death, and the sentence carried out in short order. My uncle's excuse, for he gave one in a letter bringing the ultimate news, was it would have taken his entire wealth or more—and where would we all be if my father were still to die, and the family have no resources for the future? An ingenious argument but it failed to persuade us. In the same letter he reminded Mother that my young brother stood heir to Caldridge Stead, as if this should reconcile us to the loss of husband and father. * * *</p><p>A rapping on the door awakened me before full dawn, and an announcement of breakfast followed. Down I went, appetite starting to enliven, and upon greeting my uncle, announced my intention to ride at once for Wilderedge after eating. "What! Nonsense, my gir... Wil—nonsense, indeed. If Rothman and several good men cannot relieve the siege, certainly you cannot." I'd no wish to be argued out of my plan. "But I must..." "Only think! With Rothman scouring the neighborhood, soon those scoundrels will be straggling away, most or all of them trailing down the west road, and in a mood to vent their anger on others—perhaps in need of money. No lone traveler will be safe, especially one so young. Be easy now, er, Wil. Matters will do well without you, eh? "Besides, you'll be there soon enough. While you bathed and slept the doctor and I worked it all out. You'll shortly return on a wagon bearing supplies for the expedition. We must have a store-point, and with the Arrow where it is, your homestead is the natural spot. Perhaps the hook on the map indicates where we should best start off, and such would be your home or close to it. Do you see?" "Yes, sir, I suppose." "Now, eh... Have you a barn or storehouse with room for us—that is, our gear? And what of stabling for the mules we wish to use, eh?" "We can surely find space for goods, sir, but as for mules, I know not. Perhaps we could put up a rough shelter of branches and thatch—a lean-to against an outbuilding. Would it do?" "No doubt, no doubt. The mules might wish better but we needn't cosset them." "And pardon, sir, but should you use the name of..." and here I whispered. "...Arrow?" "Eh!" Then he whispered in turn. "Did I do so? Lord bless me for a fool. It's as the doctor said—I must curb my tongue or betray us all. We shouldn't talk so freely of the trip itself, even." "You could advance a false purpose for it, mightn't you, Uncle?" "False purpose? Eh, now... yes, quite so. Very good, uh, Wil—very good indeed. So..." And here he looked round him, for a servant had run in twice, arranging our food and dishes. "What's it to be, eh? Prospecting for metals and such? No, twould still attract too much interest. What then—arable land hidden in the mountains? An unlikely tale, I fear." "Excuse me, but could the doctor be looking for herbs, as for medicines?" "Medicines? Well, now... Though I think not, for such would be too practical, and therefore unlikely—we want an eccentric motive. But, eh... natural science, Wil—there, I remembered your name—natural science is the answer. These naturalists, as they call themselves, will break their fool necks scaling a cliff to pluck an unusual moss, or spend a small inheritance to explore an isolated island for weeds, merely to put their names to them, and dry them between the pages of a book that were better left on the library shelf. Yes, yes—and the doctor has such a leaning to a small degree. It'll do, Va... Wil, it'll do. And the medicine end of it... Why, it goes along with the rest." He showed high pleasure with our progress, but I was eager for news from home. Seeing my restlessness, I imagine, he decided to send me on errands. "You know, my, uh, boy, you could use a trimming of your hair—a more manly style of it, shall we say—unless you wish to grow it into a queue." I did not. "Very well, I shall have Joslin drive you into the Station to a hair-dresser who will take you in hand. You shall purchase better clothing for our journey, and be able to return these duds to the poor fellow who lent them. Who knows but what he might be going about half naked, eh? Heh, heh. I will advance you the, the, the... In short, the money for all this. And then... And then you must ask the doctor to attend me as soon as he may, for we have, as yet, many details to settle, I assure you." * * *</p><p>My mood was somber, and Joslin detecting this, I think, made what chat he could as he drove with me in the open carriage, one sturdy horse doing all the work. "Have you a wish for any particular dresser, young sir?" "There are more than one? What difference?" "Oh, quite nothing, I would say, except one's a young fellow who jabbers on, and the other an old gent whose hands might shake. But for all that, he's yet to cut off an ear... by accident." I joined in the spirit of it, saying, "The older one, I think, for I prefer to have my ears trimmed by an experienced man." "A good choice, young sir, a good choice. And you must choose who is to outfit you with clothes—a more serious matter, for to go a-hunting treasure in rough country you'll need heavy..." He saw my expression and tapered off. "You know of this, Joslin? Who told you such a thing?" "Why... Twas the Master himself, young sir. Did you not know of it?" Each of us, it turned out, nurtured a mistaken idea. I, that he had been kept in the dark. He, that it was an open project. "Twas to be kept secret—did you not know this? How came he to share it with you?" "When he ordered me to accompany him, I asked what upon, and he told me straight out. Well pleased was the Master, laughing with his joy of it. I'd no thought, Master Wil, of any secrets." "Have you told anyone?" "Only Cook, when he asked why I should be gone for a time." My heart sank, and I thought of a saying told by my father one night at table. Three might keep a secret, if two of them were dead. I now saw the truth of that puzzling statement. Joslin had told only one, but who knew how many overheard, or how many the cook would pass it on to. The golden word treasure would assure rapid passage from mouth to ear. More reason to get quickly to the doctor. Joslin assured me he would keep the secret in the future, and even drop a word to Cook, when the chance occurred, that treasure in this case amounted merely to doctors' nostrums, should we find any. How well it would succeed, I had strong doubts. And when I told the doctor in private of this, his face became quite grim. "It is all as I feared... Quite what I foresaw. I will go immediately to your uncle to discuss this and other matters. Perhaps he has not told anyone other than his man. Let us hope, at any rate." He recommended a clothier, and said a few words on what sort of thing I should buy. "Don't stint, Wil. Your uncle is a tight man with the coin, as is well enough, but there are times when nothing but the best will do, and this might be one of those." * * *</p><p>First for the hairdresser, where matters went well enough, though he said one thing that sent a chill down my spine. "You have the hair of a woman." Seeing my discomfort, he added, "Not do I wish to embarrass you, lad—tis fine and fine-looking as well." He washed and clipped me so short I felt like a shorn lamb. At the clothier another problem showed itself, for the clerk wished to assist me on with the clothing to check for fit. "No, no," quoth I. "I'll go behind the screen myself, for I'm not used to having anyone about me." Surely my face flushed three shades of red, and the man must have thought me odd, but with having no small-clothes such a thing was unthinkable. And even had I any to wear, my blushes when stripping would have given away the deception. No matter—we left the shop with what was needful, and the devil fly away with anyone's opinions. Joslin kindly withheld further mention of the matter, and I began to fear he might be in on this secret as well, yet I knew no way to inquire without raising suspicions. On the way to and from we passed many whom he knew—folk of the Station as well as tenants of my uncle. To some he introduced me as future Master of Caldridge. I wished to be able to correct this, saying rather, my younger brother would one day succeed to the property, assuming Uncle kept to his bachelorhood. But I was reassured by it that Joslin did not know my sex. This led me to a question. "Why are there no women at Caldridge Stead?" "Ah, the Master won't have them—not in a business way." Even Cook was of the male persuasion. As for the laborers, they must be unmarried, and farmers' wives and daughters must be kept from sight, nor would Uncle deal with them. I had known something of his biases, but not their extent and rigor. He was, it appeared, a true crank. Outside his holding, however, he would deal with women of his acquaintance or during business in the normal way, and he treated his female relatives in a cordial manner. With regard to his own property, however, one would have thought a woman's footprint would blight the soil and sour the milk. * * *</p><p>In five days Rothman and his band returned, bearing news good and bad. The raiders had dispersed earlier, none being sighted by him. Not a soul of our household suffered harm, and of the hired workers who slept in one of the barns, all five had safely run into hiding. Our house lost many of its glass panes, and a few balls had buried themselves in ceiling and wall, but no other damage did it suffer. This little had cost the invaders wounds and at least one death, for a man had crawled away from the ruckus to die among some saplings. They paid us back, however, by burning every barn and shed, and shooting our bull, though cows and calves escaped—perhaps the bull had come at them. Not only had we lost the buildings and the food, fodder, oil and wax stored in them, but our presses and grinder were ruined, and our great rendering kettles dented by falling timbers. The kettles could be set up again, and the machines perhaps rebuilt, for the iron and steel might be salvaged—only the wooden frames had been consumed. But plows and other field and hand tools, harness and a store of seasoned timber were either ruined or barely salvageable. Generations of work and saving had become ashes. More than ever I wished to be home, but the hiring of men and purchase of animals crept along, despite my uncle's trips to the Burg—for it was there he primarily recruited. He'd hired a lead guide—the captain, as he was called—a man of considerable experience if few years, and a youth to act as helper. But there he stalled. He planned to take Joslin and Rothman along with few others of his own men, while the balance of his swains must stay to work the stead. And now for my other concern, for surely these men had spoken with my mother, and she not privy to the secret of my pretended sex. I did not care much myself for being known as female, but half desperate for fear I'd be left behind should the secret come out. I lurked in every place Rothman might be, and had the luck to waylay him within a few hours of his return. As Joslin acted my uncle's man of all work at the manor house—his butler and valet, supervising his meals and clothing, keeping the keys to cellar and pantry, running whatever errands might come up—so Rothman presided outside. He led the defenders should they be needed, hunted down vermin, kept an eye on the tenants, rode the fields and woods, supervised any building project be it barn or bridge, maintained discipline among the men, and handled almost any assigned task. A different man from Joslin—harder, more confident—he earned a greater share of my uncle's respect. "Good day to you, miss." "You know, then!" "Beg pardon for having treated you as a mere boy, miss, but truly you looked the part." "My mother told you?" "She was put out with me, I fear, but soon laughed once the circumstance became known. Aye, and cried, too, to hear of your dangers. She sent her love, of course, though not in so many words. After you left they could not know whether you lived or died, and she seemed right pleased at my words." "Who else knows? Who else spoke to her?" "Knows, miss?" "That I'm... well, a girl." He seemed surprised. "Does not everyone? Are there more than me who're ignorant?" "Did she speak to anyone else?" "I'm sure she did, dropping a word here and there, thanking all for their help. For we stayed on to clear a few things from the fires." "Were you the single one she told I wasn't a boy?" We went on for several minutes, my trying to find exactly who knew, for purposes of confronting them individually—him trying to understand what the importance might be of disguising my sex. Eventually it appeared only he had my mother conferred with, her conversations with others being casual and brief. He recalled no discussion of the subject on the ride home, and certain he himself had spoken with no- one of my sex. I conceived myself safe. I explained and swore him to silence on the matter. * * *</p><p>One wish of mine was soon granted, for the Master had managed some steps toward our expedition. Three wagons loaded high with supplies left for Wilderedge with me on board. Rothman commanded, with two men on each wagon plus two extra, and myself as supercargo. Brownie trailed behind, and three purchased mules as well. Two of the men were new-hired, neither of them having been told anything more than we planned to explore and gather herbs in the desert land and mountains to west. One was a boy still, not having his twentieth year as yet, but he carried himself high— not to say arrogantly—thinking himself the measure of all things. Certainly he made more show than the other, also of no great age nor great doings either—shifty-eyed and slow to speak or act. I knew him only as Rob, never hearing any other name. The former was one Gardt Wentik, a name of high repute, going on what I reckoned to be his own opinion. He seemed to see himself as captain of our minor expedition, but Rothman soon put him in his place and he became less thrusting afterward. But on learning I was to accompany the expedition...! Just a skinny child, he called me. When Rothman smiled and said I had ridden through an armed band, this Wentik asked how it was known. Rothman nodded at me and said, "From the lad's own lips." Wentik smirked and said in a sorry attempt at wit, "Ah, then who could doubt such a deed?" This brought him a sharp look from Rothman, and a sharper from me, but I chose not to protest and, nose in air, turned my back and strolled off. My father had often said it to be a waste of good breath and spittle to contend with fools. * * *</p><p>We moved at a brisk pace, stopping but once for a repair. More than halfway we spent the night at a goodly steading, lying on the sward before the house, standing watch by turns. Rothman exempted me from the list, thereby gaining me a scornful look from Wentik, which I took no note of. Up early next morn, we traveled at our ease, never once seeing anyone to fear. We kept good lookout, nonetheless, all of us with arms ready. I carried my pistol, and also a small-bore long gun much like that with which I sniped at oilpigs—easy to handle but slower to make ready—a flintlock. My father had chosen to have nothing but the best in the way of arms, all ours being cap-locks. At the last halt before Wilderedge I mounted Brownie, and went along sauntering at the head of our caravan. When we neared a mile distant I said to Rothman, "I will ride ahead to inform my mother." He raised a hand as if to prevent me, but said nothing when I jogged off. As I'd sent my mother no missive, my legend remained unknown to her, and I must give warning. I felt safe enough to go this short distance alone. Still, I loosened my pistol in its holster. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 6th ~ Homecoming</p><p>We swung into the yard at a good clip, my eagerness increasing as I neared home. I leaped off Brownie, tied him at the rail and loosened his cinch, but stayed not to otherwise ease him. As I came to the great iron-bound door it opened, one of the house- women greeting me. "Ah, Miss, tis good to see you safe." "How else, Nell? And good to see you. But my mother—where is she? I need her." "The kitchen. She just came..." But I went off at a run, and heard no more. Then into the kitchen where my mother, having directed the cleanup all day, supervised the evening cook-up for the house-folk. "Mother!" She turned in startlement. "Valys! Oh, child." She is a cool and often stern woman, but she clutched me hard, saying, "Thank God you are whole. When the word came of you at Caldridge it gave such a relief I near swooned. Why did you not come back that night, you little fool?" But she said it in kindness, and with a sort of warmth I'd not often heard from her. She is tall and work-hardened, and the grip on my neck came nigh to twisting it off. I pulled free and said, "To your room, please, Mother—I have much to tell." I soon made her listen, and we climbed the stairs and shut the door, perching on her settle and speaking low-voiced. She began again. "Why did you not return when you spied the intruders? Must you play the tomboy always?" "But we needed help." "As you see, we did well for ourselves, and hardly a scratch to show for it." "But I could not know the outcome—you might have been besieged for days." She took a few deep breaths before conceding. "True, and we did not come off lightly in other ways. All outside is ruined. I must borrow to rebuild, for our account at Neckar's will not serve. Ah me! Years of saving gone in a blink. Perhaps your uncle will lend." "Or perhaps you shall not have the need." And here I explained about the treasure and expedition. She was nigh astounded and very pleased, but said, "You go with them? What a harebrained scheme!" I'd not thought of her opposition, though it should have been foreseen. "But Mother..." "No more. I need you here in any case, to help oversee the work. Expedition indeed!" "Please, Mother, let me say my piece before you judge. I will be silent after." She frowned but nodded. "If we find the treasure you might not need to borrow. Indeed, you might have funds left over, since surely we deserve the lion's share." "If, my girl, is a gaping chasm of a word, into which all sorts of possibilities might plunge. Going off with a passel of men... And should ill-fortune happen, I would miss you too much. Ask me not to take such a chance—I cannot lose you so soon after your father." This brought tears to my eyes. She had shown more of her love for me this day than all the previous years of my life, I believe. And yet... "Uncle believes you will want me to look after our interests, and that I shall be of use. And... But I must speed, for they are but minutes behind. Let me go on for now, and decide later. Please!" I forestalled her. "I must hurry. Know that I travel as a boy— they know not my sex, nor must they know, other than uncle and a few of his men. None in the household must tell them." "What?" She boggled, but in a few words I clarified matters, and she fell in with the scheme for now. "I make no promise, understand—we must see. But to be safe, your new friends must not meet our people, or the secret will be out in a flash of lightning. There is one building still standing, the field hut to the northwest. This the robbers missed." "That place? It is long unused and tumbledown." "Not quite, though the roof leaks like a sieve, and the door is off. And much else, no doubt. They must rebuild it—twill keep them busy and away from here." "It's quite small! There are horses, mules, goods—and more coming at any time." "How many men?" "Nine, now, though some will return with the wagons—so six, I believe. But more will come, up to the number of two dozen, it could be." "So many! Well, the horses will go back, surely, and for the rest they must improvise and build their own shelters, adding on to enlarge it, even if only to build an open lean-to. Don't frown—have you a better contrivance?" Thus we settled matters for the time being. I left directly to meet them on the way, and no sooner had I leaped aboard my horse than they hove into view. I explained in brief, leading them deep into our lands until the wagons were halted by rough going. Twas but a few hundred yards farther, if so much—and in short order the mules were unharnessed and off we trekked, some of us glad and some sad, and all heavy-laden. And when we reached the goal, more complaints were made. * * *</p><p>A groan and under-voice comments were heard, with Rob muttering a long screed about the greement, as he put it—meaning, I assume, the terms under which he'd been taken on. Many looks were exchanged, and sneers and head-shakings—though a few took all in stride. Rothman soon set them on a straighter course. "A man might think you've all been raised in manors and the like, and we're to take pavilions when on the march. Well, I've slept in better than this, and I've slept in worse, as have most of you, I reckon. We'll soon enough set matters to right here—and now to work." We began on a shelter for the mules, and this again brought forth questions, but Rothman grinned and said, "Nay, lads, you must recall the mules cost the Master a good bit more coin than did you. We must first look after the valuables." His rough humor soon had them putting their backs into it, and trees and branches began crashing to the ground. Facing the hut, they threw up a lean-to between two great boles—thatched with leaves, and barred with strong limbs on the open sides. We next started on the hut, making a rude door and improving the roof while watering the mules at a nearby pool, and gathering fodder to keep them during the night. The goods we packed into the hut, the men making their beds on top of them. Rothman arranged for fires to be fed through the night at either end of the new stable, and for a night-guard to be kept for fear of beasts. As the sun set Rothman ordered me home, this bringing a jibe from Gardt Wentik. "So some of us do get to stay in manors." He gained a general laugh, but I ignored him. * * *</p><p>I got up sharp the next morn, well-refreshed after a night in my own bed, and soon well-fed and with a packet of food for both my own luncheon and that of the expedition-men. My mother was keen to be hospitable, regardless of our recent losses. I took my way on Brownie through the main oilnut plantation, watching for signs of pigs. I say plantation, but that is merely because these trees grow most well and close-set along the ridge that borders our property on the east. Though scattered all about our land, here they do their best, and make it most worth our while to harvest them. The oilnut is an ovoid bigger than a man's fist, and inside the greasy flesh hides a hard nut the size of a hen's egg. The tree begins its life as a clump of leaves similar to a sort of fern, but after two years the trunk sprouts up a yard or more, and continues ever faster, growing to eight or ten yards in four or five years. Long feathery fronds spring from the trunk each half yard or so, and at the peak of its growth the oilnuts are borne in clusters next to the trunk, under the top two or three rings of fronds. These fall in late summer, and next year the tree generally dies, though a few of the most vigorous, if they bear a light crop, live to bear heavily another year. If the dead tree is left standing it is beset by bugs and worms and fungus, crumbling in another year or two. But if immediately felled and air-cured above the soil, it stays free from attack, and becomes a resistant exterior wood. With its oils and waxes, though, it is a fierce firewood, and this is what allowed the easy torching of our buildings. The oilpigs, so to speak, are our plantation managers. They eat the fruit whole and expel the nuts. If these expelled nuts are deposited in a favorable location, they sprout, continuing the life of the grove. We, by way of pay to our piggish workers, kill them in large numbers. For if the count of oilpigs is few but sufficient, they not only eat the fruit but bury much of it for future use. During times of sparse food they unearth the fruits, swallow them, and often enough deposit the nut back in the very hole from which it was dug. It is these particular nuts which are most sure to live and grow. A fruit left to its own devices will not sprout, nor have we yet found any good method of performing the digestive function of the oilpigs. Therefore we are dependent upon them for our main money-crop. Yet if there are too many oilpigs they will eat all or almost all the fruits, and during hungry times go back and gnaw the nuts, ruining the chances of their sprouting. A thick population of oilpigs therefore means—six or seven years away—a season with few if any bearing trees. One of my important tasks for many years, and the reason for my skill with firearms, was the sniping of oilpigs—lying in wait for them at dawn and dusk. At first I'd felt sad to kill the beasts, unattractive though they are—seemingly a cross between rodent and small hog. But in time it became simply one more unpleasant job of the many that must be performed on a farm-holding. We learned over the years what numbers suited best, and kept the population in that range so no great slaughters were required. The dead pigs themselves have no value. The skin is useless for anything but rawhide, and the meat is inedible and reputed to be poisonous. To get dogs or swine to eat, it must be boiled, cut in strips and dried. But even so a human would not care for it. * * *</p><p>I took my tour and saw no excess sign, and on the way to the hut met the wagoners coming down, ready to return to Caldridge. There were six of them, so Rothman would have but two men with him, and those the worst of the lot, I thought. Well, twas not for me to say. I bid these farewell and went on to the hut, finding the two men felling more timber, and Rothman leading the mules to water. "Your task today, Mi... Master, Young Master, will be to pasture these animals somewhere, perhaps finding grain for them, then back here at dusk." "You've left yourself but two workers?" "Tis enough. Some days will pass, I warrant, before we see the next shipment. We'll have time to build our warehouse, and improve our hut and stables. For the returners, I wanted a strong crew lest there be troubles on the road. Three drivers and three guards should do it." "Have you need of me here?" "Should you find any hay untouched, bring it, rather than work around here. Otherwise we must spend time to find mule-feed, for there is sparse forage in the woods." "And your workmen—how are they?" "The lad knows how to labor, but he loses interest before long, then wishes his task changed. He has many fine suggestions, too, as you can imagine, for improvement of the work. Tis his youth. The other looks to slack off, it seems. But I will keep them to it." "What shall you do for Holy Services out here, Master Rothman?" "In the field, I fear, we all often slack off in that regard." He gave me such a wry smile I could not find it in my heart to criticize. I wondered, though, how it might be in the desert, with my uncle and the doctor. Would they be more formal? * * *</p><p>Nigh to a fortnight passed before we next had word from Caldridge Manor. In that time—through much effort, I am sure—the three in our north acres made progress in building the warehouse, expanding the stables, and repairing and enlarging their hut. The warehouse required the most effort, for they built it soundly and to last. Strong posts they drove into the earth, notched at top and one yard up. They pinned timbers into the notches to support the roof and the raised floor. Next came the roof, hurried along so as to keep weather from the inside—then careful thatching. Selecting and cutting large leaves and tall fern fronds, sewing bundles and trimming, pinning and tying the bundles to the rafters and walls took time and made for sore fingers. Nearer home our own men and women also did well, raising rough shelters for our animals, re-hafting the burned hand-tools, and clearing out wreckage from the mill buildings. And they fenced-in a few acres of pasture, so after several days I could loose the mules in one of them, and join the expedition workers for part of the day. Coming upon them by surprise that first time, I found them busy enough, and after speaking to Rothman he put me to work with Gardt Wentik, gathering and making thatch bundles. I felt glad enough to be by him, for he behaved somewhat like a civilized man, whereas Rob was good for nothing but sidelong glances and brief muttered words of complaint. But I soon had enough of those from Wentik. Waiting until we were distant from Rothman, he mocked, "The young master must now sully his hands, eh?" I feared from the stress he put on the words that he had penetrated my secret, but it turned out to be simple envy. "I have sullied my hands, as you put it, many a time before this." "Yes, by your bent back and corded arms it can well be seen." "You will not often have to wait for me. Work on, and see who does most!" Indeed, I exceeded him for a time, as I was fresh and determined to be first. But soon enough I became well sweated and needed a rest, so engaged him in talk. "Whence came you?" "The other side of the Burg, at a place you've never heard tell of." "How found you my uncle?" "I came to Redhills Burg for paid work, hoping to get something to do with the iron, but business is slow in the mills, mines, shipping and all." "And?" "I put my name at the labor changes, and checking back in a day—at the small one not the large—entered as Master Clercal chaffered with the owner. Here, the owner said, is a fine lad." "So he took you on?" "Just a boy, your learned uncle said, showing how weak is his understanding. He won't have the hardiness to keep up. But he found few others, so offered me a coin then and there. I thought the sound of a trek better than the sort of back-breaking work offered at the changes—better fit for beasts than men. Thus I agreed. Little did I foresee it would be much the same." In so rueful a tone did he pronounce this I could not withhold a snort of laughter. "Yes," said he with a black look. "Well enough for you to laugh—born no better than I, but having wealth rain down from the trees like manna. Then soon enough—and with no effort of your own—to inherit a fine steading." I longed to tell of my own cares—to defend my worth, and to explain I was not to inherit a fine steading, unless it be our own right here. But silence seemed the better choice. Yet the idea that wealth simply rained down on us... "Oilnuts won't turn themselves into gold without a large degree of effort, I assure you. We must control the beasts that eat them, clear off the dead trees, gather the fruits, mill and press them, grind the nuts, boil and skim the wax..." "Enough, enough! We had a few small trees of our own, so of course I know it all." Know-it-all! Sure, that would be a fine nickname for him. "It is one thing in your spare time," I pointed out, "to gather and treat a few, but quite another to make an industry of it." But he waved his arm in dismissal, turning his back and starting again to work. When noon came I blithely returned home to eat and to check on the mules, to play awhile with my young brother before journeying back for more hours of back-breaking labor. What a one this Gardt Wentik is, I thought. Handsome enough for those who pay heed to such matters, and intelligent enough to wield a tool without cutting off a leg or two, but otherwise not of much account. No, not much at all. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 7th ~ Captain and Governor</p><p>Uncle greeted my mother more warmly than ever before, stirred no doubt—as she later cynically told me—by the thought of future wealth. "Ah, Clara, Clara. My poor younger brother! Poor Heston—so sad, so sad." Her heart boiled at his hypocrisy, and she wished it were not impolitic to accuse him of doing too little to save my father. "But now, Clara, what a stellar chance beckons due to your foresight and that of my niece in coming to me with this map." Quite forgetful, my uncle, that our peril had led us to send for his help. He went into a boast regarding how he instantly knew the map to be of value, and how he'd unlocked its meanings—with due credit to the doctor and me, of course. True enough, in fact. Had we kept the map to ourselves it would have been stored away as a curiosity, and when the time came for one of our occasional great clearings-out, likely it would have been disposed of as trash. Lucky for my errand, too, that I'd shown him the map, otherwise who could know how long he might have waited before acting on my plea. He went on so long and volubly my mother felt a need to warn him. "Should you not be more cautious of speech, Brekon? Should you not close-guard the matter?" At once contrite, he blamed himself anew for a loose tongue. Then my mother told him of something she'd kept from me. After the attack and destruction, neighbor Cardan sent a lackey to her with a sly proposal. Cardan offered to lease from her the entire oilnut plantation on the ridge—notwithstanding he had already stolen a good quarter of it—pointing out the impossibility of our converting the fruits with our burned-out manufactory. My mother highly resented this smug presentation, not least because of the miserly payment offered. But she answered with aplomb that we would make other arrangements, though she thus far had only in mind the possibility of carting the whole fruits to another stead which might be equipped with machinery, or all the way into Redhills Burg to a factory. This was less than practical, for the cost of transportation and the fees for rendering would reduce our profit sadly. Still, she would prefer it to giving Cardan House any advantage. My uncle reacted strongly upon hearing this—went red with rage, whether at the presumption of Cardan or at the possible loss of money she knew not. "Never you fear, Clara," he said. "I will settle with this Cardan, eh? Yes, and also back you in re-equipping your workshops. Depend upon it." They spoke long on what she needed to deal with the oily flesh alone, deciding to store the nuts for future rendering when more machinery might be afforded. They made plans, and he accompanied her to survey what remained usable of the machinery and equipment, and to estimate the needs in labor and replacement parts for the mills. * * *</p><p>Uncle's arrival gained the expedition crew several men—of motley quality, I felt— and with them the trail boss, a guide of much experience. He was called Captain-of- Guides Valdar Ames—to us merely Captain Ames. We underlings must salute him, and speak respectfully. Experienced yet fairly young, hale and active, he would brook no shirking or slap- dash work. He quite overrode Rothman, for which I resented him, but Rothman took it in good heart. Within a few days he had regained his standing, and become as indispensable to Captain Ames as to the Master of Caldridge—relaying and seconding all orders. I early earned the captain's displeasure for my coming tardy to work to get the mules after the morning watering, and for my returning home at evening. It took much urging on Rothman's part to convince him the Master wanted me at home each night, and I do believe our captain spoke to my uncle before letting go his determination. As it was, he gave voice to many strictures as to the amount and quality of my work, by way of making up for my privileged status, perhaps. "I'll have no favorites among my crew," he warned me. Still, Uncle's orders outweighed his. * * *</p><p>"Fortunate we are, Clara, to have obtained the services of a fine experienced man in the Burg." On the second day after his arrival, after having surveyed all and rendered copious judgment on many matters, my uncle was preparing to depart for Caldridge with the wagons. He planned to make his last arrangements, and to return in a few days with the last of supplies and men. We would then directly leave on our venture to the north. Mother asked, "You refer to this Captain of Guides?" "No, no. He is well enough, I suppose, and a learnéd navigator is a necessity in the desert. But I mean one Ralff Jacobsen—an ancient wanderer, so to speak, full of tales about his marches into the wild lands. Not an educated man by any means, but through his good agency I have taken on many dexterous hands who otherwise hesitated to accompany us. They feared to be carried to the desert by someone—myself, that is— who had not the experience to carry them home again, all well and hale." "But surely your captain..." "The Captain, eh... Well, let me say nothing to sully him, though he rubs me against the nap with his constant fault-finding. He is well enough, I presume, but these hearty souls place no great faith in him. No, it's to the credit of this Governor Ralff, as they call him—an experienced, well-behaved man, browned by the sun and burned by desert winds—that they joined with us." "What is he like, sir," I asked. "In appearance a large tall strong-looking man of age—white-haired and bearded. He has a crook back gained in some mishap or other, and cannot do the heavy work of the rest." "Can he stay by you, then, and keep up?" my mother asked. "Indeed, of what use will he be? Can you afford to have idle hands along, eating and drinking up your provender?" "Can we not keep him might be the question, for he'll be of much good, I'm sure. He can cook—making a fire from sand and rocks, as he puts it—if need be. He knows what provisions may be found in those empty places we must tread—roots and wild seeds and such—and has a nose for water. Further, the men we've taken-on know and have confidence in him, and should the going be hard no doubt he'll inspirit them, thereby avoiding bad feelings and shirking." "And by whose testimony do you know this," Mother asked. "Well, er, ah, his own, for the most part." And with my mother gazing at him he added, "The confidence in him shown by the men is his strongest recommendation. So, eh... So have no fears—my judgment is to be trusted when it comes to men." We went on to speak of other matters, with him promising to bring barrels of rice and of wheaten flour for the stead's use—enough to carry us through when added to what we could salvage from our fields and cellars. Many provisions had burnt, but some remained. Our account at Neckar's would cover this and other small needs, though we must borrow from Uncle to replace our business losses. My mother refused to borrow from bankers, never fully trusting either their honesty or our ability to repay. Uncle took pains to be assured we would gather many oilnuts so as to earn some coin to cover the monies he would advance us, expecting repayment to take another year or two. And then he made off. My mother and I mulled what we had learned. She doubted many of my uncle's assumptions, but accepted that she could not of her own knowledge gainsay them. For my own part, I yearned too eagerly for adventure to be discouraged by any tidings, and I more looked toward than feared the future. And I must be off myself, my ears pricked to hear more nagging from the captain and grumbling from the crew. They had, though, made great strides toward completing the quarters and warehouse, and would probably finish within the next few days. Just as well, for my poor fingers could take no more of the rasping of ferns and toothed leaves. Perhaps Gardt Wentik knew the right of it. * * *</p><p>Eight days passed before my uncle returned, bringing the last of the crew, mules, and goods—including those ordered by my mother. He bustled to and fro in full animation, seeing to all even if no seeing-to were needed. Doctor Tannahill came with him, and how odd to see those two not in knee breeches and fine stockings but heavy trousers clasped round by gaiters over stout shoes. Instead of fine lawn shirts and velvet coats they wore workmen's blouses and jackets, while broad-brimmed hats topped all, to keep off sun and weather. And here I met that great one who would have so much effect on me and everyone —Ralff Jacobsen. He was a large man, over-topping us all when standing straight, and big-limbed to boot. His head was crowned with unruly white hair that made his brown complexion seem darker still, but no beard—having cut it off in honor, as he later put it, of our trek. He shuffled forward with aid of a staff, yet managed to keep up with the rest, his strides long. "What have we here," he called out upon seeing me. "Are lads in short breeches recruited?" He jested, thinking me a bystander, but I instantly corrected him. "Yes, sir, for I'm to be with you all the way." "Eh? Another gatherer of herbs and simples? What's to be thought of next?" I almost slipped and told him of my true part, for he was so warm a man one wished to treat him as a friend from the outset. "I hope you will not mind me being with you, sir, and I'll aim to do my best to help as I can, and to learn desert lore from you and the others." "Why, look you here, boys! What a fine, well-spoke lad he is, and a lively one, too, I'll warrant. Have you schooling, lad? And what should your handle be, eh?" "I'm Wil Clercal, if you please. And, yes, I've been schooled a bit." "Ah," he said with a canny wink. "I knew right off. You'll be taking the lead of us all before long, if we don't keep our wits sharp. I'm Ralff Jacobsen, I am—called by some, the Guv'nor. And pleased to meet with you, Wil. We'll be great friends, no doubt—and if you stay by me and lend a hand now and then, I'll teach you all I can of..." But here the Captain interrupted. "Jacobsen! Cease your yarning and gather the cooking gear together. Make up a load of it for the mules. And you, boy, since you've nothing better to do—help him." "Aye, Captain," said Jacobsen, knuckling his forehead. Aside to me he winked and whispered, "And that's exactly the way we want it, eh lad?" Off we went as great friends, smiling and laughing together, and never minding what a sight we must have seemed, with him so large and me the slightest-framed of the crew. We worked until I began to gain sympathy for Wentik's views on beast-like labor, for no sooner did we load the cook's gear on two mules than we were set to loading others. There I was, attempting to manhandle sacks of flour and oats and rice that weighed near as much as myself. Ralff kept beside me—struggling along with his bent back, and assisting me at the same time. Without his strength I would not have done much good, for he helped hoist the sacks onto my shoulders and from my shoulders to those of the mules—and between the two he grasped the sacks with one hand to lighten the burden on me. Twas the hardest I've ever labored. Besides the sacks we had boxes of hardtack and smoked meat, and casks of beer and wine, as well as vinegar to purify what water we should find on trek. Next came tenting and blankets and thick ground-sheets, with a variety of tools and weapons and ammunition. Two great guns of eighty-caliber bore we took should we meet with mountain bears or lions. These shot not ball but an elongated slug greatly heavier, out of a grooved barrel that spun the missile in flight. Their accurate range was claimed to be two-hundred fifty yards and more—three times that of ordinary muskets. For myself, I would carry my light thirty-caliber gun and my pistol—both cap-locks, and therefore more certain of fire than flintlocks. When we'd stowed all goods aboard the mules we paraded for inspection. Down the line the Captain went, criticizing what he considered unbalanced or ill-tied loads, ordering certain mules lightened and others added to, and telling-off the men for improper field dress or poor shoes, or a mis-loaded pack. The Master and the Doctor came in for a share of it, for each man must load and lead at least one mule, plus carry food and drink upon his own back. Likely he used more tact in their cases. No sooner done than he commanded us to unload the mules, keeping our gear in order for speedy loading at first light next morning. Many's the grumble that I heard, one man being so angered he swore and declared, "There'll soon be a new order of things, and a new captain besides, if this goes on." Ralff immediately told him, "Enough of that, Bieler. Lucky you are to have a paid task—and if the work is plenty, better that than rare. Stow your gab!" Joslin came to me then, saying I must attend the Master. I started to explain my tasks, but Ralff interrupted me. "Go, lad, and I'll care for your animal and its load. Discipline is needed in the wild country—when summoned, now means now." * * *</p><p>My uncle, the doctor, the Captain and Rothman huddled in one end of the newly- expanded hut, the men being busy with the animals. First I learned I must stay the night —taking Brownie and a couple other horses back at first light, and awaiting the column near my home. Next my uncle described a special task for Rothman, which occasioned much discussion before being settled. At this point my uncle made ready to prepare for sleep, but the Captain would have him up, for he had some thoughts of his own. "First," he said," I consider it a bad example to leave the unloading and watering of our animals to others, and in the future..." "Come, sir," my uncle interrupted him. "It's only this once—don't fret over minor matters." "None-the-less, on trek it must never happen again." Uncle grimaced but let him continue. "Next, I won't hesitate to tell you I don't care for these men. I know a few firsthand, and others by reputation. It's a mixed crew at best, and we might find difficulty and indiscipline before we're done." "Are you saying, Captain, that I can't choose men properly?" This was the Master of Caldridge speaking as to his overseer. "Pray tell me, sir," the Captain put it with elaborate care, "how many of these men you directly chose, examining them face to face and speaking with the references they offered?" "Sir! It is true I depended much on another's valuation. But are you saying he is untrustworthy? For I rate Ralff Jacobsen highly, and resent your challenge to my authority." The doctor now contributed. "Please be explicit, Captain. This Jacobsen fellow seems a wonder, holding great sway over the others, and never sullen or unwilling." "I fear I have heard both ways about him, Doctor. But enough. Here is the crux of the problem—you have distributed firearms to each man, making control difficult. I propose tomorrow to take back the arms, only doling them out as needed to those on watch. With men we haven't tested and don't know, it is the pinnacle of foolishness to arm them." My uncle harrumphed, dragging his feet and going on about having defense ready at all times, but eventually gave in. "I think, however, Captain, you worry too greatly. For one thing, I trust these men, and their natural leader is Jacobsen. I will allow you to proceed, however, with one proviso—wait until tomorrow eve to take this action. Agreed?" The Captain scowled but agreed, and our meeting broke up as the men began to appear. I pulled the doctor aside to whisper a question that greatly concerned me. "Doctor, how might I... well, attend to calls of nature?" The darkness hid my blushes. He smiled, and whispered back, "Surely the Captain will halt every hour or two to let us—both men and beasts—catch our wind. You may slip off behind a bush or rock and obtain some degree of privacy." "But Doctor! Some degree of privacy will not do." My voice must have risen, for he put a finger to his lips and motioned me to follow him outside. Once clear of the building and with none near he said, "Pardon me for not at once seeing the problem—you have too well convinced me of your boyhood. But... what have you done while working with these fellows?" "At midday I ride off a distance, taking my nooning in private. They stare and comment, but it is well enough. That will be impossible on the trek, I fear." "Quite right. You can't scamper off hundreds of yards and be safe." "Nor can I think of any excuse to keep the men at a distance." "What a bother! Here is another reason you should not accompany us. At the very least you will find yourself embarrassed from the casual way these crude workmen expose themselves when they think to be among men alone. Yes, and their bad language, too." "I've already hardened my ears to it, and my blushes are quite spent. But what of the other? Please don't say I must leave the trek, for that is quite determined already." "I suppose it is," he said in a gruff but not unkind way. "I can think of but one way out of it, and that is for me or your uncle to accompany you, standing guard with back turned." "You, if you please, Doctor—for my uncle, while a close relative, is..." I threw my hands wide, trying to show we were not in sympathy. "Yes, yes, I suspect your meaning. I fear we will come in for jibes, however, knowing the way these fellows' thoughts run. Hmm. Is there another who knows your sex, and with whom you could be somewhat at ease?" "Only Rothman, but I know not how he would feel about the matter." "So... I am to be the consort, it seems. Yet if I am not free at a time of your need, perhaps you could go to him, eh?" "I'm indebted to you, Doctor. And now, I fear, I must ask your company this instant." ~~</p><p>Chapter the 8th ~ Departure</p><p>Next morn we arose fresh, performed our ablutions and ate swiftly, saw to our beasts and loaded them, and again paraded for the Captain. He summarily inspected, offering a few complaints and directions. Then, to the surprise of the men, we made off south for the road. He ordered silence, and except for a few grumbles, got it. Ralff Jacobsen, by whom I marched, asked me the meaning. "I am not to say," I responded in a low voice, "but you will soon see. Now I must be off." And I took the horses home. As they neared our buildings, Rothman and Vonbader, another of Uncle's men, gave their mules to others, and ran ahead to warn off my mother's people, in part to shield me from recognition and greetings. I rejoined, and nearing the road we veered left, moving partway down the ridge—a gentle slope here. There my mother awaited, holding the leads of three horses and her own. While our column stopped, Rothman, Vonbader and Harkness, a third Caldridge man, mounted and dashed down into the flat and across Cardan's track. They raced into Cardan's fields, scattering workers before them and capturing one. Throwing a noose, they dragged him back, forcing him to run and leap lest he fall and be dragged—and upon reaching the foot of the ridge, they halted and dismounted with drawn swords. Rothman told me later what occurred. "Is your life worth much?" Rothman demanded. Between gasps the man attempted to bluster. "The house... will send a party... after me." Rothman brandished his blade at the man's belly. "Will they come soon enough, or think you your blood might water this patch by then?" The man drooped, cowed and silent. Rothman now took a sealed letter from his breast. "You shall be safe for now. Give this to the chief swine in that pile of rocks..." He gestured his sword at Cardan house. "...and be sure he takes its meaning." The man stood uncomprehending till Rothman growled, "Now, you fool! Run." He followed a-horse with drawn sword well on the way, forcing the man to run and shamble lest he be pricked. Rothman returned to the others, and they waited until the man got up to Cardan's. By then armed men had begun to gather at the gate of that place, and directly after the message was delivered a large number boiled out, perhaps a dozen of them. The Caldridge men came up to us, handing the horses to my mother who started back to our home, waving to me as she passed. "Take care, my brave... my brave lad," she called. Our column made its way down the ridge, crossing to the track and forming up on it. In all we numbered five from Caldridge, plus the doctor and me, the Captain, Ralff Jacobsen and seventeen more—all armed and, for the most part, hardy-looking men. We led thirty-eight loaded mules, making quite a caravan. We marched north on Cardan's track while his dozen crowded our potential route. But as we approached they pulled back farther and farther toward the wall surrounding the house. Coming abreast of Cardan House we halted, leading the animals forward into his field, letting them crop the tender vegetation planted there. Our opponents retreated still, keeping a good hundred yards between us. After what seemed a considerable time but likely no more than half an hour, we urged the mules back in line and reloaded—trailing north to angle onto the track again. Rothman told me with a grin that Uncle had given him a coin to reward Cardan's man for his inconvenience and fright. "But I felt for our purpose fear and fear alone served better than any appearance of softness, so treated it as a bounty for myself." * * *</p><p>The letter: To whomever rules at Cardan House, You have unwisely approached the Mistress of Clercal House to annoy her over her troubles. In future do not enter her land nor approach to offer any insults—neither you nor your lackeys. Should you fail of this, I hereby give my affidavit that your blockhouse shall be reduced to singed stones, and your fields to barren waste, with your life endangered as well. /s/ Brekon Clercal, Master of Caldridge * * *</p><p>North we went on Cardan's track, making a good pace past his fields and what had been our oilnut trees, and as the path faded out the Captain called a halt, announcing it would serve as our nooning. It proved convenient, and by taking our ease on Cardan land we offered insult on top of injury, for they—a few of them—trailed us at a distance. For the second time that day the doctor and I went off, hoping the others would assume we looked for plants. And indeed we did bring back a few leaves and flowers, which he sketched and described in his book, and laid out for drying. After a lengthy rest to further plague the Cardans, we re-loaded our poor beasts and set out in earnest. The land here looked much the same as earlier, except the oilnuts became sparse as the ridge met with the northern hills. I looked for the beginning of the desert but saw nothing until our next halt, when I observed the ferns—normally taller than a man, many of them—grew less high, nor were the greater trees so thick-growing. Back in the column I mentioned this to Ralff. "Aye, lad, for the desert rarely comes on sudden. This time tomorrow, how-some- ever, you might see a difference." "How far until we see true barrens?" "Under this driver—the Captain, I'm meaning—a week should do it, I reckon. Then you'll gaze for all your worth, but soon the eye tires of it, and you're wishing for greener parts." "Will we find any worthwhile herbs there?" said I, keeping up the masquerade. "Hah! Be lucky to find growing things at all, in most places. Not good territory for regular men, it isn't. I hardly know why I wished to come back out here." "Do many trek here?" "A good plenty, out searching for treasure and such." And he gave me a searching look. What! I thought to myself, has he already guessed our purpose? After a pause I asked, "Has anyone ever gone looking for herbs before? With you along, I mean." "Nay, that's a new one on me. But plenty of other things—gold and silver, of course, and copper or lead. Some even have hoped for iron—though how that would pay, with the Red Hills close below us, and much easier hauling, I never knew." "That is strange." "Deed it is, lad, deed it is. There's those, even, who've looked for the old Arrow." And again he peered at me. "Heard of it, have you?" "Indeed, Master Jacobsen, I have. It's a famous story. Is it real, you think—or a myth?" "Sure and you know it's no myth—you're funning me." I saw at once I'd gone too far in playing the innocent. "I mean, the ship is too well known to be doubted—but the landing... Could they not have made a turn, or gone far beyond into the sea, or even escaped back into space? For wasn't part of the crew still aboard?" "Nay, I think not, lad—but sure it isn't where we... where they thought it to be, for I've helped on many a trek into the badlands north of Redhills, and I am hard put to think we or someone should not have come across that great ship. Ah, tis sad, isn't it— those good men perishing after so far a journey from another star?" * * *</p><p>Next morn a great ruckus blew up, for the Captain announced firearms must be turned in—all those carried by the ordinary men, that is. The tumult rose, with the men pointing out the dangers from wild beasts, and even threatening to return—for they'd been promised arms, hadn't they? They began to look menacing, some of them, but Jacobsen stepped forth. "Here, now boys—the Captain's the trail boss, and what he orders we must obey. Discipline's the thing on trek. Give up your arms and no more bleating, for it's sure that when we need them, we'll have them." Indeed, the Captain explained those on watch would carry firearms, and should we see sign of dangerous beasts—mountain bears or lions or whatever else—out would come the muskets. It infuriated them, of course, that the Caldridge men would remain under arms—even Joslin, who looked like no warrior, and even I, a mere youth. Many a dark look came my way, both then and later. At first halt one of the men, a particularly villainous one called Blinder due to his having lost one eye, argued at length with Ralff, saying they should insist to be armed, never mind what the Captain said or claimed. "Now, Blinder, make yourself easy. We still have our cutlasses and dirks and clasp- knives. I make no doubt that should a great bear come charging down on us we can face him. And after he's swallowed you and one or two others, and his belly's full, the rest of us can slip behind and cut off his brush. Come winter he'll freeze his muzzle, and learn to be more cautious around bold men such as we." I and those nearby burst into laughter, and the story ran up and down the column all day, until everyone had laughed twice or thrice. Even Blinder chuckled eventually, though I doubt he ever saw the full humor of it. Mountain bears were feared with good reason. Fortunately they avoided settled parts, though in hard winters they might come down and carry off cattle or a soul here or there. Men would band together then to hunt them down, a necessary though perilous task. I'd never seen one but heard many tales. As for a description, think of a hog on stilts—a large, long, exceedingly hairy hog with sturdy legs and paws, a long bushy tail, and ferocious jaws and teeth. Their shoulders stood nigh as tall as those of a horse. They would stalk their prey by getting in front and hunching down, waiting for it to come near, then leap up to dash at it. For one or two-hundred yards they could outrun a horse, though tiring soon. Yet in an easy lope, twice the pace of a walking man, they could travel all day. Their appetite was prodigious, and in hard times one could finish off a human, leaving neither hide nor hair nor bone behind. Hunters could often catch them due to their denning-up after a big meal—traveling a mile or less before sleeping. Less fearsome but bolder were lions, coming closer to settlements to lie in wait. Like a giant cat, a lion hunted at night or twilight—but even by day their dark mottled hides disguised them well in dappled shade. They grew no bigger than a large dog, though massive-built, weighing near two-hundred pounds. A well-aimed musket ball might stop them, while the bears could absorb several without flinching. The latter were the reason for the great guns. * * *</p><p>At evening we halted and did what would become standard practice in the desert, packing mules and men together in a sort of ellipse or diamond—with great fires before, after, and on each side. Behind, Rothman and his two would tend the fire and set up one of the great guns—rifle, in fact—on its tripod. They loaded for night with case-shot—a good dozen fifty-caliber musket balls inside a paper-and-glue cylinder— making it into a sort of shotgun. This allowed for poorer aim by dark. Two stakes driven into the earth assured the gun couldn't be swiveled so far as to shoot into the camp should the gunner be muddled. On each side the Captain tolled off three or four men as guards, and armed them with muskets. In front my uncle, the Captain, the doctor and Joslin maintained the fire and manned the great gun. I had no responsibility, and was allowed to sleep through. Before starting I thought to have trouble dropping off due to excitement, but from the day I began work on the buildings I was prone to fall into the arms of Morpheus before doing the buttons on my bag. The nights never lasted too long for me. This night, however, I half awoke once or twice to urgent voices. Next morning while walking off I questioned the doctor. "The fat is in the fire now, Wil. It seems your uncle let drop stray hints when hiring his men. He doesn't remember to whom, but certain-sure Jacobsen at least. The Captain has heard the men whispering of treasure, and demanded of your uncle to know the truth. On learning it, he swore he wishes he'd never agreed to sign on, and would not have, had he known the scheme. He now understands the men's surliness and argumentation." "Oh dear!" "Oh dear, indeed, child. Should he lose spirit we might be badly off, for we depend upon him to guide us. Yet he recognizes it would be wrong to desert us." "Desert us? How would he dare travel alone in the wild?" "He is a man of much experience and skill, and no doubt would fend well for a few days. The question at hand, however, is how we shall fend if these fellows take it in their mind to claim a share—or more than a share. Your uncle promised them a bonus if matters went well, but had in mind something quite miserable compared to a portion of the salvage. Violence could be in their minds." I knew not what to say—my fine adventure seemed less golden now. I stared at the doctor. "There is this, Wil—you march with the men, and are befriended by them." "By but a few." "None-the-less they might speak more freely in your presence, perhaps thinking you of slight account. Keep your ears pricked, and your eyes open. Say little, and that right simple." "Yes, sir. I can do it, and bring any mutinous intentions to you." "Beware, though. Avoid pointed questions, for those will make them suspicious and closed-mouthed. Let the fruits fall into your hands, not try to pluck them from a prickly bush. Understand?" "For certain, Doctor." "Very well. Are you ready yet?" "Let me scrub my hands with soil. And is there no herb you wish to save?" He looked round. "Nothing new, I'm afraid. We'll return empty-handed this time." * * *</p><p>Off we went—another day with nothing to report. The trees became fewer and shorter, now—nary a one over fifteen yards, I warrant. The soil thinned, and many outcroppings of bedrock stuck through. Ferns disappeared, while the bushes matched the trees. One good thing—we could more readily detect a slinking beast should one attempt to stalk us, due to less concealment available. Ralff claimed to me he'd seen a bear at a distance, but I noticed he passed no alarm to any others, speaking in a low voice. Perhaps he wished to test my courage. I checked my weapon and peeled my eyes, looking often to the horizon. Three times per day I did my extra errands, helping Ralff gather his gear and supplies for cooking, and redding-up after. There being little water by the way, I often must find clean sand to scrub the pots—not an easy task, I assure you. One time I begged Gardt Wentik to accompany me, for I needed to search far from the camp. "What, and shall I draw a musket?" he jeered. "Nay, unless you are fearful. You have your cutlass, and we won't go too distant." "And shall you leave your gun behind, too, bold ranger?" "Take it, then," I said, handing it to him. "If you know its use." He took it with a glare, looking it over closely. "There's no cap!" "Aye, for safety... Here." I took one out and gave it to him. "For safety? Yes, safe you'll be if you fumble to load while some great beast comes raging toward you." This angered me, but he was correct. The habits of home were not proper here. I prepared to apologize, but he had not done with his satire. "What a toy it is! Should a lizard attack, no doubt we'll be well warded." "Small it may be, but it shoots true... in the right hands, at least." This stung him. He started off with great strides, flinging over his shoulder, "Another time, ask someone else. I'll not put myself out for one so unmannerly." Struggling to keep up, I cried, "Have you no young brother to plague, that I must be your target? And slow your pace—how can I look about me?" But he would speak no more that day. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 9th ~ Shoot Away</p><p>Sabbath came, and the Master held Holy Service, occasioning another quarrel—for Captain Ames insisted the duty and honor his as trail boss, according to custom and tradition. But my uncle would have his way, being much given to display. He took slight time over it, and we soon started off, for leisure under our circumstances ate up provender to no use. The trek became more arduous, the land rising steeply and changing character. Trees and bushes became stunted, and new kinds showed themselves, often pulpy and prickly, or woody with leaves few and small—many dusted silver-blue or grayish. The doctor and I must wander farther and shield behind rocks, but rarely returned without some specimen. Lizards and vipers seemed common enough, but our gaiters stopped their bites, and they rarely struck in any case. We saw meager evidence of running water and but few stagnant pools—muddy and scum-covered. What existed we must scoop out and filter, then boil if we had sufficient fuel, or let settle and decant—adding vinegar to kill, we hoped, what unseen animal life existed within. Wash-downs became an undreamed-of luxury, and I soon felt dirty beyond anything, laboring hard during the hot days, and forced to wear heavy garb to protect from rocks and thorns and sharp-edged herbs. When I complained to Ralff Jacobsen he laughed in his jolly fashion. "You've been raised too fine, young master. For us poor men the rule is, one good sweat washes off another." I could not but laugh—yet ruefully, for I keenly felt the lack of cleanliness. My small-clothes, of which I'd three changes in addition to the one on my body, I wore turn and turn again. Earlier I'd twice managed to rinse them well, but no more. The same was true for all, and the general practice, which I soon adopted, was to tie yesterday's under-breeks and singlet to the backpack, letting sun and air serve for washerwomen. It answered well enough, though the garments stiffened after a time. Various of the men seemed not to do even that—perhaps having no changes, perhaps not feeling the need. As a result, a sort of miasma hung about the camp and halting places, and not to be blamed on the mules alone. The rough ground and constant climb soon tired the great muscles of my legs, leading to aches and stiffness. Every halt became a too-brief paradise for me, to rest and knead my legs lest a cramp strike. And with it all, my mule required attendance—to give it what water we could spare, to feed a few oats in addition to the rough forage the land provided, to loosen straps and girth, and to re-tighten them and adjust the load when starting off. The mules had the better of it in part, for as we and they ate, their loads lightened. Some men wished to add their own packs to what the mules must carry, but the Captain insisted we maintain our personal loads and spare the animals. "All too soon," quoth he, "we must withhold food and water from them, and the easier they have it now, the longer will they last during conditions to come." * * *</p><p>Since leaving home we had but one rain, on the second day of our trek. Other than a few drops by night now and again, it had been a dry Midyear, and we hadn't yet set up tents, sleeping in the open. Now, though, on what might be the sixteenth day, one squall after another passed over. At one moment we'd be damp and cold, the drips running down our shrinking necks—and the next steaming in bright sunlight. Tarpaulins and hides were staked out, and the water saved in kegs and pots, gaining enough to carry both man and beast for a few days. I thought to tie all my smalls on my pack, giving them a good rinse. The showers were uncomfortable yet refreshing, and I looked forward to a good wash in what ponds might come in sight. We halted late at evening, so had no time for such a luxury, and I as usual drifted right into needed sleep. Our guards tended their fires with scraps of wood and brambles we managed, as always, to scavenge during the day's march, for rarely could enough be found in any one spot. Sometime that night I sat bolt upright, awakened by a hubbub. One guard had seen a lurking form and let off his gun—then deciding that not enough to wake us, commenced to shout warnings of a bear. Once things quieted and the Captain regained order, he closely questioned the man—Mule-bane, he was derisively called. "I gave it a good wound, and chased it right off," he claimed, congratulating himself thoroughly, and giving copious descriptions of the encounter to his fellows. Many demanded they now be armed, but our Captain stated his method proven, and ordered that they stir up the fire and keep better watch. "As for you," he said, "why did you not wake your fellows? Three shots would surely do more than one." No time, the man insisted. The beast would have been upon him had he not immediately fired. "Wrong! First wake the others. Give them at least a chance to haul out their knives or say a few words of prayer before being dragged off." The crew agreed, and so the man fell from hero to scapegoat in a few minutes, condemned for his stupidity. But when the Captain returned to our group he drawled to the Master, "Likely fell asleep on watch and dreamt it." "What's this?" my uncle barked. "I trust you read him a stern lecture." "Nay, for it would make for resentment, and with no good reason. He and they all will now be more prone to keep awake on watch, as a good fright will do more for discipline than all my commands and lectures." Uncle harrumphed and muttered, but the wisdom of the Captain's method seemed clear. The restless crew spent time getting back to sleep, yarning and complaining. But I, reassured by Captain Ames' opinion, dozed right off. Yet in the morn some claimed to see spoor of a large animal in the soft earth. A mist kept all close to camp, looking over their shoulders every moment. It forced me to wait till first halt to attend to my needs. Accompanied as always by the doctor, I luckily found a small outcrop of rock within easy sight of our stopping place. Ralff grumbled at me when I returned. "What is between you and the learned doctor, lad? Fools charge him with an un-natural lust, and you his boy-consort." Now I must think without delay, and a near-truth seemed the wisest course. "Nothing like," said I with some show of ire. "I've been raised modest and cannot overcome my feelings, yet dare not go off alone." "Ah, I knew it, for you are a fine manly sort of younker, not given to those mincing steps and fribbling ways that are so often signs of such doings. Tell you what, Wil— next time come to me for a companion, for once I go off with you, none of these scrubs will dare take up the tale again." Oh Lord! "Nay, sir, though you are very kind. Still would I be too much embarrassed. It is different with the doctor, for in past treatments of sickness he has already seen me unclothed, so I can stand his presence without blushing too crimson." "Well, well," said he, somewhat put out at my refusal of his favor, "I see your reasons, and will do what I can to squelch these ugly slanders." I thanked him prodigiously, for besides wishing to keep my standing with the crew —of whom he stood the natural leader—I well liked him, and looked upon him as a sort of mentor. In truth, when it came to desert ways, he knew near as much as Captain Ames, and was inclined to give advice rather than orders, therefore easier to accept. As an instance—though the Captain mentioned it, Ralff's hint caused me to grease my lips and nostrils in the dry climate, to keep them from chapping and cracking. And his example I followed in tying a large kerchief around lower face and neck to keep off the sunlight my broad-brimmed hat could not always stop, for my fair skin reddened all too quickly. Early and late the rays sneaked in, and at midday the reflection from rocks and bare soil seemed nearly as bright. Before long all had their kerchiefs out, and some even tied a mask of gauze across their eyes at midday to filter out brightness, another example I followed. But as for getting a wash, when the mist cleared no rivulets or ponds could be seen —only a few puddles. Dismayed, I begged the doctor for an explanation. "Tis the land here, Wil—naught else but granitic rock and coarse sand or gravel. The rain at once soaks in, running by secret ways to rivers far distant. No doubt we could dig down and find damp, but we've small time for that at present." "But conditions are so different to the south!" "True, for the soil changes, being based on a friable and more fertile base rock. Your holding, for instance, has fine dark soil that holds its moisture, both near the surface and below. Who knows but what your oilnuts owe their presence to the combination." "My father said good drainage was needed, and the reason for their liking the ridge." "That, I imagine, and other properties of the soil as well, for nearly every slope has good drainage. Would they not be thick-set here, if drainage proved all-important? Perhaps he meant only to explain why they chose that particular area of your land." * * *</p><p>On the second day after the storms, our shooter regained his repute. A warning call came from behind, and upon the Captain and the Master whipping out their telescopes, they confirmed it. "We're being stalked," Captain Ames concluded. "Well, Mueller," such being the proper name of Mule-bane, "it seems you might have been correct." "Aye, I knew it." he crowed. "Did I not say..." And on and on to his cronies. For many hours the stalker would occasionally be seen, keeping abreast of us as we marched, passing by when we halted, at times creeping closer to peer from hundreds of yards away. A few arrogantly derided it, for the beast seemed to believe the smallest outcropping or thinnest bush sufficient to hide behind. But we all looked toward nightfall with trepidation. The men demanded weapons, and my uncle seconded their wishes, but Captain Ames remained adamant. We suffered little danger now, he claimed, and at evening would take further methods. Nonetheless when Rothman proposed a scheme to ambush the beast, he fell in with it at first explanation. As we passed near a shallow gully or swale the column veered into it, scrambling down the sloping walls to sit or crouch in the center, unloading the mules and forcing them down as well. To prevent a stampede we staked each animal securely. Muskets were handed out, together with stern instructions not to shoot unless the animal charged in close. Front and rear the great guns were set up as at night, their breeches unscrewed and loaded with solid shot, and each assigned an arc to watch, hoping for the bear to show itself on the skyline. Rothman and Harkness took their places as gunners, assuring that the heavy weapons swiveled and elevated freely, the large butts firm against their padded shoulders. "It will come from the front, if at all," the Captain said. "All quiet now, and let us puzzle it!" An eternity we waited, but eventually a soft call came from the rear. "I see it. On the edge of the swale, partly behind a shelf of soil or rock, at extreme range." The Captain conferred with Rothman, then called back. "Shoot away, but aim low rather than high. Every soul be still until he fires, but make ready for action." How difficult to sit there, waiting as Harkness took most careful aim—depending upon his years of experience with weapons, and on good eyesight. When the shot came, a great blast beyond my experience, I could not but leap to my feet. A gout of dust rose short of the bear, and it also leaped up, jumping the swale and running to the right of our path. Captain Ames raced up the side, roaring, "Up, all of you, and try a shot." The men responded eagerly. "Lead him," The Captain shouted, and the guns spoke in a ragged volley. I hesitated, for it stayed far beyond range—more than two hundred yards off— racing parallel to us. From the corner of my eye I could see Rothman and the others struggling to bring their gun up the slope and set it on a rise. "Cease firing," the Captain ordered. "Clear your firelocks but don't reload." The beast ran on, slowing to a lope, seemingly unhurt by either Harkness's shot or the smaller balls. It passed us well ahead, curving across our front, and as it did Rothman tracked it, slowly swiveling his gun. Though the animal had got beyond three-hundred yards he fired, and it stumbled and fell, rolling over and immediately coming to its feet—limping badly but moving away. It disappeared behind a knoll. A cheer went up from the crew, and all gave Rothman their congratulations, but the Captain kept our purpose in mind. "Load the mules," he ordered, "and get those back." For two had broken loose and run off a short way. He assigned men to catch them, sending my uncle and Joslin with them as guards. Rothman urged the Captain that they track the bear, arguing the danger of leaving the wounded animal to seek revenge. After thought Ames agreed, and off went Rothman, Vonbader and Harkness with two others, while we marched in their tracks. They jogged away out of sight. Soon ahead of us we heard a shot, and a man returned to the top of the knoll to shout and wave. The bear had lain behind it and bled its life out, but to be quite sure, they put another ball into its lungs, looking for any movement. We gathered around and satisfied our curiosity. One shot had struck high on its side, passing behind the shoulder and exiting in a huge bloody hole near the rear of the chest, probably nicking its lungs in passage. This must be Harkness' shot, skipping from the soil and into the beast in what would have been the fatal hurt. The far foreleg had been broken by Rothman's shot, and a small wound showed in the abdomen, the only shot that hit from a score of muskets. No older wound could be found, however, so Mueller's laurels must again be stripped from him. Our excitement rode high, for the beast looked truly large—like a shorter-legged horse, but far more massive. A question rang out, showing our true interests. "Can we eat it?" "Aye," answered Ralff Jacobsen. "Feast till your belly splits. Be sure you may have my share." Indeed, the animal stank like any polecat, but differently. The doctor looked closely, made a quick sketch, and measured its length and that of the tail. He dipped a stick in its eerie liverish blood, whipping out a glass to study it. "I think," he mumbled to himself, "it's not one but two types of blood, a red and a bluish one. And what theories follow? Two systems of vessels? Two hearts? Two pairs of lungs?" The men danced around, immensely cheered by this victory, and demanding keepsakes—sharp teeth from its great wide jaws, claws from its mighty feet, the small rounded ears. Captain Ames would have none of it, demanding we go directly back on trek, enough time having been lost. "On our return you may prospect among the bones if you will, assuming the scavengers leave anything." And he added in a low voice to my uncle, "They no longer fear the bears, but except for a lucky shot the monster would have escaped. At night it will be different." "Why bid them shoot the muskets at it? Twas a mere waste of powder and shot." "True, but it raised their spirits to strike at the monster, and they'll be busy arguing who managed the one hit. This way they needn't draw the charges of the muskets, at least." My uncle frowned but accepted his reasoning. * * *</p><p>While cooking up our evening mess Ralff chaffered with me. "I warrant twas you made that belly shot, Wil." "Surely not, sir, for I withheld my fire." "What's this? Not eager to let fly?" "Nay, twas too far, and my ball too small to carry well." He gave me a wry smile and lowered his voice. "Nor did I shoot, and with the same reasoning. A fearsome beast, though, was it not? I have seen but one as close before, despite my years in this sort of country. They are rare, and a good thing, too." Falling in with his mood, I also spoke low. "The Captain said twas luck to bring it down—that at night it would be more difficult." "Difficult? I should say so. Only one before have I seen nearby, and that under evil circumstances. It broke into our camp at night, and despite much firing carried off a poor sinner. As today, we tracked it, determined on revenge, and found it dead with a dozen or more balls in it, both in front and behind—yet it ran two mile or more." He shook his head in regret. "What of the man?" "We found him on the trail, mangled and dying, where he'd been dropped by the suffering beast. Indeed, if you'd been shot up you'd likely lose your appetite, too... But tis not a laughing matter. I tell you, lad—always sleep on the inside of the pack, hoping the bear takes the first one he comes across. I surely do." ~~</p><p>Chapter the 10th ~ High Country</p><p>For all the harshness of this land it provided a benefit of stark beauty. Immense vistas revealed themselves as we topped each rise. The horizon showed its details all round, sharp in the thin air. And the clouds! In our homelands we are cheated of their full glory by trees and verdant hills, but in sere desert their majesty is revealed, whether ranked in endless rows or mounded Heavenward, mass upon giant mass as if to pierce the sky. The air seemed too thin, and the hills beside our track grew higher, even aspiring to mountains. Deep breaths were needed should any work be done, and my throat ached. What would it be like if we climbed higher? The way grew rougher, with many twists and turns needed to find an easy path. We next came upon a flatter place of rolling hills that contained a new wonder— great leafless stems with fearsome thorns, jointed like grass. Newly sprouted ones showed dark greenish buttons peeping above the soil, but old ones grew near a half- yard thick and ten yards high, with a few upright branches as thick as the trunk. Despite the thorns, we approached and chopped some down, the men leaping aside to avoid being crushed or pierced as the boles haphazardly fell. They sliced open the great jointed columns to get at the spongy core, and lumps were cut and wrung out, the moisture being caught in jars or pots to stretch our water supply. It tasted curiously similar to a woody lettuce—bitter yet drinkable if one had enough thirst. The mules relished the resulting damp wads. Ralff claimed it also edible by humans, and at noon to prove it he dredged slices in flour, frying them in ham fat. It took much chewing to swallow, and all the taste seemed to come from flour and fat. Better save it for the animals, we agreed, and conserve what grease and flour remained. This land seemed different, growing many clumps of dry grass clipped short by herbivores, and stunted aromatic bushes. The doctor pointed out finer soil, slightly darker in spots. "I doubt not that solid bedrock underlies this, retaining rainfall for a time, and supporting this grit eroded from friable rocks in the mountains. The fibrous roots of these succulents might reach clear down to it." We passed among these quaint growths, relishing the sparse shade they gave. Marching mile after mile we noticed that, thorns or not, many trunks displayed notches bitten or rasped through the leathery skin, and the insides somewhat hollowed out. In other cases the fringe of roots had been gnawed by creatures digging into the soil, and a few of these had fallen and split open to lie gutted. The flimsy dried skeletons littered the earth here and there, and if crushed together made a fierce quick-burning fuel. Mounds of this, cautiously handled to avoid the remaining thorns, would feed our fires. More animal life showed besides the always-present lizards, vipers and tiny gnawers and skitterers. We once started a small herd of goat-like bounders, something more than a family group—lopers, according to Ralff. At a distance we saw more of them—long horns curving over their heads, graceful legs sending them springing high and far. Birds and flying creatures could be seen, and I spied a twiggy nest among the thorns atop one bole. Toward nightfall we turned to the side of this fantastic wood, setting tents inside the outer edge, for the Captain promised us a cold night, so high were we, and so clear the air. Two moons rose up well before dark—great One and a smaller that looked to be either Four or Five. Both shone clear and exceptionally bright, One in particular casting vivid shadows as night fell. By its light an adjacent similar grove, near a mile distant, could be made out as a spiny black mass. Captain Ames set several men to digging forty yards into the open, and I asked one of them the reason. By misfortune, I directed my query at Gardt Wentik. "Why, to make a bathing pool for you to wash your red thatch," said he. I was caught unawares, and let him draw me. "It is gold!" I cried out with some heat. And so it is, a reddish gold quite unusual and, I've been told, very fair next to my coloring. "Your thoughts run toward precious things," he sneered, "but anyone can see it's nearer copper or red brass at most." "You're a lying fool," I spat, not thinking of a better retort. Too bad for me, for I had handed him a whip with which to flay me in coming days. But my hair is both a matter of pride and concern to me, and I'd long feared it might darken as years passed. But if it seemed more reddish now twas only due to sweat and dirt. In high dudgeon I turned from him and stalked back to the camp. Near the front where I usually slept, an un-branched tree had been felled and levered sideways. Here Rothman with Vonbader had sited a tent, and he motioned me over. But I felt no mood to converse, so gruffly asked, "Where is Doctor Tannahill?" and went on. I found the doctor and told of my need to step off from the camp, at which he frowned. This chastened me, for I was quite a hindrance to him, I knew—always drawing him away from some more interesting task. I started to apologize but he brusquely squelched me and said, "Joslin, pick up your musket and walk with us." We threaded our way though the great thicket for a good hundred yards, leaving Joslin off halfway with an admonishment to keep his wits with him, until trunks and increasing dimness sufficiently shielded us. With the doctor on one side of a large bole looking right and left, and I on the other doing my business while keeping eyes peeled and my piece close to hand, we held some speech. "What think you of our lure?" he asked. "Lure, sir?" "Aye, the pit that's being dug. Don't you know? Our Captain thinks water will seep into it, and the antelopes we've seen will scent it and come to snatch a drink. It seems reasonable, for there's precious little other moisture for them." "And what then, Doctor?" "Why, Rothman and others will have at them, and we'll eat fresh meat. Twill do us a great deal of good, too, though we're far from starving yet." "Is that the reason for that tree being down?" "Yes, to hide behind and rest their guns on. We'll have no fires tonight, the moons being bright, and the Captain will put the loudest snorers on the far side." We both chuckled. On the stroll back I asked, "What of bears, tonight—might they not also be attracted?" "Quite possible, I suppose, but if they come from the open side we'll be ready, and if from the other, the snores might scare them off." But as we returned we saw the large guns on their swivels front and rear, with stakes set. On the inner side of the camp another tree had been dropped, and a watch set behind it. I went up to Rothman, intending to hear more of this scheme, but he forestalled my questions. "So, Wil—and would you wish to be one of the Nimrods this night?" I nigh well squealed. "Oh, could I—or do you jest?" I asked, wary of such privilege. "No, tis true. You may sleep betwixt him and me tonight, taking a watch and also a shot if one should offer. We must tie the flies back, so will be colder, and you must wrap up well. Here, now, we've clipped the thorns and thrown them to the other side lest we stick ourselves, and we'll be cutting notches in which to lay our guns, lining them up for the perfect shot. I only hope they may not rust in this soggy mush, for I hate to mistreat a good tool. Perhaps we'll line the notches with leather to keep out the worst of the wet. "Hmm—and what's more, if you've no objection, we'll pound some charcoal fine and mix it with oil or fat to darken faces and hands. Will you...? Good. Oh, another thing." He called to Vonbader. "Baddy! Let us drape a tarp tween tent and this green log for further shade. Twill keep us warmer, too. Drive stakes right into the trunk, but keeping it high enough that we won't brush against it and make noise." He turned again to me. "Now, Wil... Are you attending to me?" "Yes, yes. I can hardly believe you are choosing me—tis so astonishing!" "Well, as you might imagine, a certain gentleman disfavored your selection, no doubt wishing to take a crack himself. But the Master decided in your favor, as reward for your good behavior thus far. And the Captain has other important duties, and needs his rest." We both chortled at this image. "But listen still, for I've much to impart. Stealth is all—move with utmost care. We'll arrange the guns to point where we think the creatures will be, but likely adjustment will be needed. Move slowly as syrup at year's-end. We'll mound up soil or blankets so we need merely raise our heads and come up on our elbows, adjust our aim, and on my whispered word, fire. I'll say," and he whispered like a breeze among leaves, "Ready... fire, and we'll touch off our pieces together. "Now we can't be cocking them or the beasties will scamper off. So make sure of your load, and cock your piece before you sleep, being sure the cap is well clinched on the stud. The first thing when you're wakened is to rise up ever so slow-like, cup your left hand under the trigger guard, make your aim and have the trigger slack taken up. Wait for me, unless we afright them and they bound away. If that, it's every man for himself." "I think I can do this, though how I'll sleep..." "Baddy and I will watch first and second. If we get to your watch you will need to waken us, but I expect if they come it'll be early." "With the mules and us, will they even come near?" "I would rather it were only we three and no mules, but Captain believes we have a good chance—for the land's dry, and furthermore they are curious beasties. So might be they'll come, or might not. Time will tell." "I hope to perform well. I've shot many pigs, but always with some light, even if dim—and they are not so wary or fast." "Twill be similar but tricksier, I warrant. And another thing—be sure to aim low, for in moonlight your sights will be obscure, and the tendency is to point high." "These lopers are light-furred, though, and the sights will be dark against their flanks." "True, Wil, but if the big moon is on the far side you'll see only a shadow... or sillyhooet is it called? So it might be dark on dark. And more reason—when the hammer falls and before the powder touches off is but a slight moment, but enough for them to make ready to leap. They'll crouch down before bounding up, and your shot will be a hand or two high. So aim low for both reasons. We don't want a slight wound that will have us chasing them for hours till they bleed out. Aim low, and perhaps break their legs if it's too low—that's good enough." * * *</p><p>The warnings and advice and preparation so excited me I thought sleep would never come, but it must have come more quickly than expected, for I remember nothing of the early part of the night. I felt briefly at a loss when awakened by someone— Rothman, probably—touching my cheek, but I didn't startle or cry out, and soon recalled my tasks. I'd slept on my belly, and I cautiously rose—lifting my elbows one by one so as not to drag them and make a noise, and lifting up with my head like a diffident turtle. At first I couldn't make out the sounds I heard—twas the jostling and grunting of the antelopes as they surged forward and back in the pit, sucking up water for all they were worth. A dozen or more churned at the hole, and a stirring of pity came into my heart as I saw the littler ones being squeezed out of the mass, then diving under only to be forced out again. As Captain Ames had predicted, water greatly attracted them. I took so long to get my hands into position that my companions must have been impatient. With the noise and excitement among the animals I'd taken Rothman's warnings more to heart than needful. But no sooner did my finger touch the trigger than he whispered, Rreaa-ddy... I could not aim at a flank because I must shoot into the center, and they surrounded the pit—churning and moving—with mostly backsides presented to me. Rothman and Vonbader might have better possibilities, yet I did point low, at least. As Rothman had said—I could not discern the sights against the mass of animals, and must point rather than aim. Rothman's Fire! caught me still taking up trigger slack, and my shot came a hair behind the others. The mob exploded into flight in all directions, one even leaping into the camp before turning. Not a body showed near the pit—had every shot missed? No —one soon faltered and slipped after a bound, struggling up then falling to stay. But what of the others? The camp exploded in a shindy—everyone awake and most on their feet, and some proposing to go search for wounded animals then and there. It gave the Captain trouble to quiet the more ardent spirits, but a few were wise enough to stay within blankets or bag, which number included Ralff, of course. None was allowed to leave by dark, though the nearby carcase, less than a hundred paces off, we immediately recovered. It took me a good time to sleep after this, and I lacked eagerness to be up when my time at watch came round. But awaken I did, and served my turn without nodding off. * * *</p><p>Per our standard program, at earliest light we were up, and off went Vonbader and Harkness with the Master and three of the crew to search for wounded antelopes. One they found within half a mile, stone dead. Another had dragged itself to the edge of the grove opposite, and still lived. They cut its throat, and carrying both bodies—light enough loads—they searched along the last blood spoor. It they soon found as well, with a lioness and four cubs by it. After discussion my uncle declared the carcase not worth getting, nor would he let them kill the lion, even though it might be considered good policy to thin out predators when chance offered. Back they came and speedily butchered the slim things, pegging the meat to tree trunks to further cool, with men assigned to fan off bugs. They buried the offal in the water pit, probably soon to be uncovered by scavengers. We breakfasted on the first one—the smallest—and when starting off wrapped the other meat in the hides. I soon learned the secret of shooting four beasts with three shots, for Rothman and Vonbader had played a sort of trick on me. Mistrusting what I should do in my excitement, perhaps even freezing and being unable to pull the trigger, they had each loaded their guns with three pistol balls in hope of wounding more if killing fewer. But I had shot true, and the one which fell nearest had my ball in it. It had entered low in the abdomen, cutting through lungs and one of the great vessels of the heart before stopping at the far shoulder-bone. What praise and jolly chaffing did I receive, having in a sense out-shot both experienced men. It further bloated my already swollen self-conceit until it became a wonder my hat still fit upon my head. But I had no awareness of this until later, taking all as my well-earned due. And when my eyes happened to meet Wentik's later that day, I gave a broad sneering grin that caused him to tighten his jaw and turn away. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 11th ~ Forebodings</p><p>Two days more we threaded our way from grove to grove, keeping to them for the paltry shade and convenience in finding fuel for our fires and fodder for the mules. On exiting the last we slew several trees to fill our vessels and carry along more food for the mules, protecting as best we could the spongy material from drying in the sun's heat. During one halt the doctor recruited two volunteers to dig between certain trees to uncover the secret of their growth habit. As he expected, adjacent trees connected to their neighbors by underground runners—fresh in the case of small ones but atrophied between the larger and older. "How, though," he asked, "do they know to keep a distance?" For rarely were they nearer to one another than three yards, and in general more distant. Each grove, the doctor hypothesized, might be the product of one lucky seed finding the proper conditions to sprout, and being fortunate enough to live to maturity or whatever age at which they began to grow runners. The doctor humorously compared the groves to strawberry patches. At our last camp we again dug a water pit. The meat of the first antelopes had been devoured in one day, and just as well lest it spoil. The bones went the next day in the form of soup, as tasty as one could wish. Now we would replenish our larder once more. But this try was less prosperous, with only two shots being taken. Few lopers came to the pit, and but one was recovered by the night's chosen huntsmen, for the animals trotted in by ones and twos, lapping briefly before bounding away. In the morning we learned why, for only dampness could be seen, the water table being lower here. No surprise, since the trees and other vegetation tapered off as the land rose and roughened, and after exiting the last grove we traversed granite slabs topped by rugged stones and splintered rock. * * *</p><p>Stopping somewhat early, the Captain chose a smooth outcropping clear of debris for our camp, for nothing better showed ahead. With only a few cracks in which to drive stakes, stones were gathered from lower on the slope to hold down tent sides, for we would sleep in tents from now on. All except a few sentinels worked at rock gathering, for we needed stone to set up the great guns, and to make fire rings. As the last few were being searched out, one of the men started a viper. He kicked out at it, and it responded with a strike. He wore no gaiters, only his trouser legs wrapped and tied at the ankle, and it bit high on the shin. He screamed, convinced he was going to die, for the crew largely thought all reptiles to be poisonous. The doctor laid him down and tried to calm him, for excitement would make any poison course that much faster through his system. Captain Ames asked of the viper's marks and size, but the fellow could not tell us, only saying it was small. Another provided the answer. "A wee thing, striped as a barber's pole." Captain Ames gave the doctor a look and slight shake of his head, and Doctor Tannahill now said, "We must have a poultice," and out came a scalpel with which he cut across the fang marks to make them bleed. Miniature bluish pimples, they were, no larger than goosebumps, with but a few drops of clear liquid oozing out until he sliced. The doctor cut him well, rubbing the area to make it bleed copiously, and when the poultice had been made up—a mix of flour and linseed, hurriedly boiled in a rag—he bound it tightly over the wound, though the man groaned from the burn. "Lie still, fellow," he told him. "It struck on the bone, so was able to inject but little poison. You'll have much discomfort but should heal soon." He and the Captain walked off to speak in low tones, and when the doctor returned his expression looked grave. "What is it, sir," I asked. But he only said, "Let us give this man all the liquid he'll drink, to dilute the venom." "Can you do no more, Tannahill?" my uncle asked. "You might pray, sir, for the Captain claims this particular snake to be quite deadly. Its marking might indicate such, for bright colors often warn of danger." Some of the men took it hard, a few calling out to Heaven for probably the first time since they'd been children. Others mumbled of Ecol and Gaea, and how we'd invaded their wilderness, impiously killing their blessed beasts and trees with no use of protective charms. Superstitious rubbish! There is only one true God, and the Bible informs us he gave man dominion over the Earth and all in it. That was on the home planet, of course, but surely it held true here as well. * * *</p><p>At morning the man felt unwell and moaned from pain, and the doctor gave him a powder to make him nod off. Strong drink he begged but was refused, for Doctor Tannahill stated it would give slight relief, and might well spread the poison faster. Despite the poultice the flesh of the shin swelled, and reddened streaks crept both up and down the leg a few inches. I asked if the blood was poisoned, but the doctor said more likely the lymph vessels were inflamed. "Which is better, for it means the venom will spread less rapidly." But better proved not to be the equal of good. They unloaded a mule and tied Spostoe—for such was his name—to its back, to be treated like another bag of grain or flour. At each halt the doctor examined him and tried to make him drink. When the moans began again, he administered more drugging powder, and thus we made it through the day. After our morning start we made a turn. We had been marching north by a point or so west, making our way parallel to the chain of hills and mountains. Now we aimed to northeast to enter the range at what the Master interpreted from Abel's map as a gap that would lead to the Arrow's position. How accurate the map would prove we could not know until we tested it by use of shank's mare. The track became exceedingly rough and uneven, and we tired quickly, though our lungs had by now accustomed themselves to the thinness of the air. We learned to take great gusting breaths, and to move with deliberation, wasting as little effort as might be. Our caravan twisted past great boulders and slabs, always trying for the high line, but often being over-topped by this or that great piece of stone. Our concern, of course, was to see before being seen, for fear of bears. Fuel was in short supply, there being only small wiry bushes rooted in cracks and pits in the rock, and men prospected far to collect these. I say far, but never did any go beyond thirty yards unless with armed escort, and rarely beyond twice that distance even then. Though the bushes were living for the most part and had sap in them, they were so resinous they could have burned if dipped in a pool. The problem proved not to get them alight but to keep them from flaring up and being consumed in a trice. The night proved bright and clear, so we saved our fuel. But rocks and spires abounded—and misleading shadows. It came as no great surprise when one of the sentinels let off his piece. Nothing could be seen, but it roused the camp and earned him a hot rebuke from Captain Ames. The men next day made him scapegoat, and he endured much for his nervousness, if such it was. At first break the next day the doctor lingered long over Spostoe, who appeared much worse. My uncle and Captain Ames came over, and I sidled near. "Well, Tannahill?" "Not well, Master, and worsening as we speak. He is weak, the pain is high, the swelling has spread, and discoloration approaches the knee." An ulcer had formed over the punctures, as well—I could see it from where I peeked. "Should you not be thinking of taking it off?" my uncle asked. The doctor glanced at the Captain, who said, "I was about to suggest as much." The doctor grimaced. "He is weak, and I'm not an experienced surgeon who can clip a leg in two minutes. The shock might well finish him off." "What other choice have you, Doctor?" the Captain asked. "You are correct, I suppose—and if so, it best be done immediately. Can we halt for a time?" "If needs must," said Ames. "I will order them eat the noon meal, and to the devil with any complaints." "Has he taken any liquid?" the doctor asked his attendant. "Naw, sir. Old Spotty weren't much for water anyways, but he clenches his teeth and coughs it up ifen I gets any down him." "What of spirits?" my uncle asked. "Have we beer left?" "One cask, doctor, which I'm saving for a celebration, should we need it." "Spirits he'd prefer, doctor," said the attendant. "The worst thing we could give him, but if one part to four or five of water... And we'll mix the powder in, for he must be well drugged when I take the leg, or the pain will kill him. So! A bad choice is better than none, I suppose. You, fellow, mix up a small drink and I'll stir in the powder. If the spirit makes it more palatable, perhaps we'll get it down him. Wil, I'll want you away from here—take your duty with the cook. And I'll need a couple of strong assistants in case he struggles." The doctor cut the leg at mid-thigh, wanting to be well above those red streaks. The trimmed-off part was dropped into a crack, with a good deal of gravel and such after it, followed by several stones the size of my head. We waited a time for Spostoe to recover, then recommenced our trek, trying to make up for the delay. * * *</p><p>On our side trip that evening I asked the doctor whether he had remembered his skills. "I did, Wil, and should I need to perform on you, be assured you'll hop along happy as a grig afterward. But to no good for Spostoe, I'm afraid. I could see the poison under the skin, in his stub. I fear it has gone much farther than the surface indications." "Oh dear!" "Two days I give him, at the rate he is failing and the venom spreading." "It's so sad, doctor, and all for lack of watchfulness." "Ah yes, tis a sad matter to die far from home and friends, even for one such as him who has likely never known what you or I would call a home. And how do you enjoy your grand adventure now, youngster?" "Not counting something such as this, I admit it sometimes palls on me, when the labor is hard and hot sun glints off the rocks, or when we toil all day with nothing to rest the eye. Thoughts of home do come to me now and then. Yet I wish to go on, and not for the finding of herbs alone." He chuckled. "As for me, I sometimes think to end my bachelor days—it would be good to have someone to mourn me when my desiccated carcase is one day recovered." Mere jest on his part. At this stage I felt he enjoyed the adventure as much as I. * * *</p><p>The Captain found us a rise to camp on, but one covered with debris. We cleared the center, rolling and pushing rocks and boulders to the periphery to make a sort of barrier. The sky was overcast, and in the night a light rain fell, rousing us all to catch God's liquid bounty. Next morning proved the doctor wrong, for Spostoe was dead when we arose. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 12th ~ Bears</p><p>Twas a sober crew—and leaders, too—who broke their fast and readied themselves to march. Most had expected to lose the man, but for it to be so sudden shocked everyone. You may be sure all eyes were now peeled for vipers and worms and any small lizards, nor showed we much mercy to those discovered. Captain Ames seemed least affected, chivying us to make haste and not lose precious time, but few other voices rose as we set out. Even our cook, Ralff Jacobsen, had no cheery words today. But I overheard him tell one of the others something of the bear. I pricked my ears at that. "What's your meaning, Guv'nor," the man asked. "No-one has called a warning." "No-one sees it, and perhaps tis not close quite yet, but we left a tidbit, did we not? And we carry its next feed along with us, eh?" He meant Spostoe's body, for the Captain wished to find a better spot for interment than the barren place where we passed the night. "Tidbit?" the man replied with horror. "That leg was well sunk." "Bah! A flick of the paw could uncover it. These bears lack not for strength." "Aye, but with the crevice so narrow..." "Hmm. I'll give you that point, Tal. Perhaps our friend will be delayed for a time. But he'll be up to us sooner or later, mark my words." "How so? These beasts are rare, you've said. How many could be patrolling round here?" "I've seen but one close up despite all my treks, tis true, but I warrant they can scent corruption at ten mile or more. Did you not see the snout? Could we tame one, what a tracker it'd make! Better than many a hound." "The snout! I saw the jaws well enough." This raised a laugh, and the Captain was quickly among us. "We've no need for clamor. If you've extra breath, Jacobsen, I'll find more tasks for you." I resented this for Ralff's sake—as did others, I imagine, for he was the most popular among us. But he replied meekly enough, always playing the good soldier. "You've the right of it, Captain. I'll stow my gab for when we have a halt." * * *</p><p>The Captain rubbed many the wrong way, not least my uncle, who saw himself as leader of the expedition, with Captain Ames but his hireling. They often argued, and so it happened today. When we made our first halt Uncle put on his hat as Master of Caldridge, and stated, "Let's be rid of that body, Ames, for there's no point in bearing it all over creation." "Bear is right, Master Clercal, for if we can't find a secure spot to cache it, we'll have bears around our ears in no time." "What's this? What is your meaning, sir?" "I've noted it many times. These beasts are no dainty eaters, and a feed of carrion goes down as well as fresh meat, with less energy wasted in achieving it. We'll want to bury Spostoe deep, not only for the sake of his earthly form but our own comfort. No point making pets of them." "Preposterous!" The doctor broke in, perhaps to cool the discussion. "What of the lions, Captain? How do they come into it?" "They're better at sneaking along, and they prefer to hunt by dark, so we are less likely to sight them. Further, I suspect they are as chary of the bears as we are, for I warrant that antelope or man or lion—it's all the same to Master Bear. At any rate, find me a crevice or small pit in native rock, and we'll put a period to Spostoe's wanderings." * * *</p><p>"Why must you harp so on the bears?" Sandy whined. We were at a halt, and Ralff spoke in a hoarse whisper concerning mountain bears, which seemed his theme for the day. He told of his own terrifying experience with one, of seeing them at a distance many times pacing columns on the march, of their uncanny ability to scent food—their speed, stealth and ferociousness. Much of his information came secondhand, and part—how much, I wondered—might well be tales and myth. "Ah, Sandy... Like a child, you've no wish to hear of the bogey." "Thank God," muttered another, "for those swivels." "And for cool marksmen working them," said Ralff. "But at night..." The Captain came near us—longing, I felt, for an excuse to break in and send us all to our work. But the purpose of a halt was to rest, and the men spoke in low tones. His eye fell on me. "Here, young one—up to the fore with you. Seek the Master." Chagrined at missing out on a horrifying but deeply interesting discussion, I went with lagging steps to where my uncle, the doctor and Joslin sat apart from the caravan. Captain Ames paced behind me. "Sit, er, nephew, and draw in close... Now tell us, what's this whispering and plotting in aid of?" "No plotting, sir, but Master Jacobsen yarning about bears and such." "Afrighting the crew for no good reason," the Captain said. "And behaving like guilty men," my uncle added. "Sitting shoulder to shoulder and speaking in whispers." "I've never trusted that Jacobsen," said the Captain. "He has a cunning look to him, yet speaking always as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth." "Here, sir." My uncle being, as always, quick to defend Ralff. "We're lucky to have such a man with us—cheery and urging the men to do their duty. Eh... Yes, lucky." I wondered at times if Uncle might not wish Jacobsen, always smiling and obliging, could be captain rather than the prickly and argumentative Master Ames. "There's more luck than one kind, sir," countered the Captain, "and luck can change." "Please, sirs," I said, directing my speech to both. "Are we not now doing the same as they—sitting close and conspiring?" Silence spread, then the doctor chuckled. "Wil has the right of it. Out of the mouths of babes... " But the Captain wasn't ready to let it go. "The full saying, I believe, is—or ought to be—Out of the mouths of babes and fools. Jacobsen must be watched." Doctor Tannahill answered before my uncle, swelling himself up to play Master of Caldridge, could let off a blast. "True enough, Captain, as should they all. But I also think we are fortunate to have Jacobsen with us, especially on nights of bread-baking. I only pray the flour lasts." This switched Captain Ames to grumbling over supplies, in fact low, and my uncle gained another object for his anger. "Who, I'd like to know, could have foreseen the appetites we'd have under these conditions—or how long this trek would be? That crude map..." "But gentlemen," the doctor interjected, "is there not still a problem to be dealt with —the potential dissatisfaction of the men?" "Very true, doctor," said the Captain. "But what's to do? I've seen it from the start." "Well, sir," said he, nodding in my direction, "we have an intelligencer among us." What! Did they think I would be a spy? True, I already kept them informed of what passed among the men, but to put the actual word spy to what I did... it caused revulsion in me. They all stared as if awaiting my response. "I don't wish to spy—I count many of them as friends." The doctor understood. "Quite so, Wil—as you should. But remember this—we are in a potential... No, let me say an actual dangerous situation, even with a loyal crew. If the men are—or if they become disaffected, our situation might be fatal." But he saw I still hesitated. "As for spying, put that out of mind. You are not made to be a tattletale, you are too open—and a good thing, too. But amongst them keep eyes and ears sharp, and when you are with us we'll have a gossip over the fears and concerns of the crew, parts of which might well be justified." I thought awhile with all of them eying me as though I were the last chop on the platter. "Well, Doctor, I believe I can do that much." He merely nodded, but the Captain must go and spoil it. "And keep your mouth shut to them regarding our plans." "I'm not a fool!" I burst out, thereby proving the opposite, I suppose. I jumped up and went back among the men. As I approached Ralff's group I caught a tag of speech. "... not worth the risks." "Hah!" quoth Ralff, his voice rising. "You must be a rich man not to take an..." "Hist!" They fell silent, and Ralff swiveled to greet me. "Welcome back, young master, and what's the word from on high?" What a question at this time, and the Captain's admonishment still ringing in my ears. But I would defy him. "They think you frighten the men." His face froze before spreading in a grin. "And so I do, lad, for I am as a lion among sheep with these louts." This sally brought jeers and catcalls from the men, but the Captain shouted out, "Up all and load! And waste no time with it." "I'd give him waste," muttered Blinder, "and the sooner the better." "Be off now," Ralff told him sharp-like. "And don't be criticizing your betters." I went to load poor patient Bessie—as I had named my mule for no particular reason—sighing over the predicament I felt myself in. As we finished and lined up, Ralff sidled over to me. "I've a favor to ask of you, younker." What more now? "That Wentik, yonder—I'd know him better, for he's a wise head on his young shoulders." Truly? I'd not noticed it. "Go say to him, when you may, to come march near me so we can have a sort of conflab. Would you do that for me, matey?" "Why ask me, sir? We're not friends of any kind." "You're much of an age, and both of the gentry, speaking the same refined way and sharing manners. Do it, lad," he coaxed. "There's little enough gentrified about him." "Why, Wil—I'd hardly know you with this unfriendly speech. What's he done to offend?" I squirmed before muttering, "He twits me on my hair, claiming it red." "What a giant fool! Anyone can see your hair's black as coals." This was too much for me, and I burst out with a guffaw. "But Ralff, my hair is gold —my mother says so. Yet he won't let it be." "Ah, the ways of the higher classes are foreign to a poor man such as me, but perhaps he himself wishes for red hair—envies yours." "It's not red!" "No no, lad, I can see that. And a boy should always take his mother's side. But red hair, now—true red, that is, not golden as yours... I've known men with red hair. Hot tempered and too quick to act, they're supposed to be, but in a dangerous circumstance quick action is no fault. No sir, no fault at all. That's my take on it." He quite mollified me with this speech. In my heart I knew it only flattery and flummox, of course, but the idea that a grown and seasoned man would take so much trouble to sweeten me I found monstrous gratifying. "I'll go to Wentik for you—but don't expect much good." "That's my lad. Good on you, Wil Clercal—you're among the best of this here expedition." * * *</p><p>But when I later approached Gardt Wentik he acted ungracefully, much as I'd expected. "Why should I wish to confer with the cook?" "He is vastly more than cook. He's been on many treks of this type, and has had many an interesting experience in various places." "Very well—why should I wish to confer with the old experienced cook?" Argue with a fool, my father used to say, and others would see two fools arguing. I wondered what he, a true gentleman, would think of this clod? I turned on my heel without another word. "He declines to come," I told Ralff, then tried to soften the insult. "By the bye, the doctor heartily likes your bread but the Captain fears our supplies are short." "Short they are indeed, but we've flour for a few more bakings—tonight, if matters work out... And that Wentik, now, don't fret on him. He's young and will change." "For the better or for worse?" "Heh, heh. You've a witty tongue, lad. Must be the, ah... the golden hair." * * *</p><p>"Too wide, yet shallow. Wide at this end, shallow at that." "I insist this time, Captain. We've passed other spots, and the odor is simply too great to any longer put up with." And had attracted a bear, Uncle might have added. It had followed since after our noon halt, whether lured by the scent of our food or by the scent of Spostoe was impossible to know. We had surmounted a small cliff by way of a wedge-shaped crack, building a causeway of stones to the lip so the mules could lever themselves up the rest of the way. And in that crack my uncle demanded the body of Spostoe be entombed. Captain Ames closely examined it near the middle. "Here," he said to Gardt Wentik and two others. "That split there—find large flattish stones to jam into it, long enough to stick well out into the main channel. On this side is a lump, and between those two we'll roll boulders." He had others shovel out a small trench in the bottom gravel down to where the sides of the gap came together. It made a grave more than a yard deep. Into this went the body, wrapped in a blanket, and soon they shoveled small stuff on top. But with the bundle barely covered, the Captain started them piling on rocks. No, he said, nothing smaller than what two men could carry—and he soon changed that to what two men could roll. So it went until they nearly filled the crack down to the point of cross-blockage. Now came the heavy work, several men pushing great rounded boulders of a yard diameter, with still others to lever at them, and place stones to prevent them slipping back when the roller-men needed a new grip. Five of these topped the grave, but even then he wasn't finished, having smaller rocks brought in to fill the gaps, and more yet— none of them small—placed around and on top. My uncle at last became impatient. "Surely, Captain, you've done enough." "I doubt it, sir, but twill have to do for now, I suppose." Rothman came up to them, saying, "Beg pardon, Captain, but there's no good firing spot." "What?" Captain Ames was as tired and sweated as any of the men, for he had thrown himself into the work with them. He looked round as Rothman explained the problems—the bareness of the clifftop, the way it sloped from this point, and so forth. "We could make a firing platform, but otherwise it'd be mere grazing fire, and plenty for the beasts to hide behind." Yes, beasts—for another bear now lurked on our previous path, slipping from outcrop to boulder, never crossing the line of first one, both waiting for us to move on before attempting the cliff. "Blast!" the Captain cried, and many other expressions, for he'd thought to use poor Spostoe's body as a lure, then shoot one or both bears to rid ourselves of them. But with no place to site the great guns, and any barricade for ourselves either too close or too far away, we should need to move on. He made sure the guns were ready to put into immediate action, and off we marched down a curving slope. The Master had said his words over the grave, but neither he nor the men felt happy with the rushed ceremony. "At least," he tried to console himself, "the man's body is safe from those demons." "I doubt that, sir, for what a half dozen men can move, one bear—or maybe two, if they cooperate—can easily undo." Foul news—but when the grave-site came once more into view from a half-mile or so on our way, the telescopes showed our pitiful cairn down, and the bears struggling in the crack, fighting to see which was to have the honor of unearthing Spostoe. "At least," I overheard one of the men say, "full bellies will keep them from our trail." "Don't count on it," Ralff Jacobsen replied. "Two great bears to one stick of a corpse... It might but whet their appetites." How well the men received these words you may easily imagine. Yet one poor simpleton unwittingly lifted our spirits. "Tain't hardly fair," quoth he. "They devour us but we daren't eat them." * * *</p><p>Light flooded the clear night from a sky filled with moons. No fires were lit, but each rock and outcropping cast four shadows, so sentinels were awakened and shots fired twice to no effect. Before that, there now being no shortage of fuel as we entered different country, a great cooking fire was laid, and Ralff baked quantities of bread. He had a fine technique I'd never seen before. Using sourdough that worked continuously on the trek, every two or three days he would mix a soft batch of dough. Tilting flat-bottomed pans before the fire, when they were well-heated he would slap handfuls of dough upon them, quickly baking a thin patty. Seasoned or not, when hot off the pan it was the favorite of all, nourishing body and soul both. "How is it, Doctor—the bread, tonight?" "You know well, Jacobsen. Should I ever marry I shall hire you as baker." Ralff laughed more loudly than this witticism deserved, I thought, and the doctor followed it with another. "I've been given little scope for my vocation on our expedition, and I lay it in part to your cooking that sickness has passed us by." "Aww, Doctor—save my blushes. Such praise will make me too proud to ever work again, once we are home." Sickening that grown men could carry on what would be a flirtation should it take place between man and maid. From the vantage of youth I could but despise such folly. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 13th ~ The Trap</p><p>The upthrust block of rock that formed the cliff now far behind, we began again to see patches of soil, more bushes, clumps of well-cropped grass, more small animal life— and once, far in the distance, antelope. The country remained rough, though, and after yesterday's experience we shied from the approach to every rise, and shrank from passing near any possible hiding place for large animals. The thought of leaving our bodies as a repast for monstrous creatures affected nearly all of us. Usually happy souls wore somber visages, and the usually morose more somber still. Not so with Captain Ames. My uncle demanded to know what he planned should the bears reappear. "Or think you they'll not show soon?" "They'll show, sir, and sooner than we wish." "Aye! Then what are your plans?" "To blow them to Kingdom Come, if we might." "Eh, now... And how, sir, do you propose to do it, may I ask?" My uncle became satirical in his impatience with the Captain. "Let it wait, Master Clercal, for I've not fully decided—nor must I do so until we sight a bear." "Until the bear sights, eh... or scents us, you mean." "I mean this, sir—that there must be peace for me to mature my plans, and once I have done so you shall on the instant be informed." My uncle wished in every atom of his being, I could tell, to blaze out at our Captain, but he could not afford a breach—the man remained too valuable to us. No doubt Uncle dreamed of the day when he might end the Captain's position and send him on his way with many a hot phrase... But that could not happen yet. From my position in the middle of the column I could at times see Captain Ames and Rothman marching side by side, and in concentrated conversation. Something was being plotted, and I longed to know what. At first halt I unloaded Bessie and made my way to the fore. This earned me a scowl from the Captain, but I put myself beside Doctor Tannahill. "Do you wish to take a stroll, Wil, this soon after breakfast?" "Not yet," I whispered, "but I ache to know what Rothman and the Captain are plotting." "Heh! Don't we all—but they are being mighty secretive. Oh ho! Wait... They seem to be finishing. Is our Captain to let us in on it?" Not quite yet, it turned out, for he went back to have another word. But soon he came toward us and announced, "We've a scheme worked out should we sight one of them, but there's no point going into it now, as we might yet add some refinement. Keep eyes peeled, and stay alert at all times. I'm going to inform the crew... Rothman! Come on." The doctor and I exchanged glances, and he whispered to me, nodding in my uncle's direction, "If a portion of this is not play-acting to frustrate your poor relative I'll be mightily surprised. Our Captain delights in walking a ridge-beam to show his independence. Yet I think, lad, that he is more in the right of it. Still, my poor friend there is suffering." Back I went to my place, and as we marched along my eyes, like those of most, spent more time looking over my shoulders than to the front. Sir Bear did not disappoint us, for the cry went up before noon halt. Now Captain Ames came back my way, calling to Ralff. "Jacobsen! What have you to bait a bear? What meat can we spare?" "Ah, there's little enough, sir, but I've a pound or two of bacon I planned to serve soon, for it's high as a bird. I imagine..." "Let's have it man—no need to make a fable of everything." Ralff handed over the bacon to Rothman, who said to Captain Ames, "Immediately as your foot touches the stopping place, sir, call out and I'll cache it." "Yes yes yes," The Captain burst out. "We've gone into all that. And I'll line up a few men to back you." As he and Captain Ames went toward the rear, Ralff said to me, "I wanted to tell him bacon is strong-scented anytime, but this particular piece... whee-oo! But the man's so hasty there's scarce any politeness in him." Ralff's feelings were hurt, the first time I'd seen him take things to heart, and I thought to turn his attention. "Do you think the bear will stay clear of it, due to the smell?" He brayed out, "Ho, that's a good one. You know better'n that, I'm certain. Are you trying to put one across old Ralff? You must be up early in the morning, my lad. Sure, Master Bear carries pepper with him to cover the taste of high meat. Ho ho ho." We traveled on and on—meaning, I suppose, the Captain elected to be his usual picky self when it came to choosing a place to settle upon. I wondered how Rothman liked his odorous burden. With this activity half of us walked backwards at a time, consumed with curiosity— curiosity and fear, too, it must be admitted. Had we been able to give our attention to scenery we'd have had much to gladden our eyes. We were penetrating into the first range of mountains, with great bulks to either hand. Before us lay a low basin, with a dark smudge to the southern side that might be vegetation. Beyond loomed another higher range of mountains, the top-most peaks glinting with snow. And if I strained my eyes I could barely see a sparkling lake a vast distance away... But I knew it to be a mirage created by hope alone. At last the call came. Turning round and peering wide, I could see Rothman and Vonbader placing something off to one side, and struggling to bring a huge flat rock to drop over it. A little farther and we halted. The gun crews strained to set up, with one to be aimed by Rothman, the other by Harkness. "Unload gear, all of you—make fast the mules!" The Captain bustled up behind the swivel guns and their crews. "Not until the swivels let off," he told his band—Uncle and Doctor Tannahill. "Mustn't scare it away." "He's forgot the men," Ralff muttered. Too correct! The Captain had forgot in his excitement. Of all the rest only I had arms, and the men seemed to presume it intended that way. I hesitated, fearing a rebuke, but took my courage in both hands and went up to the Captain. "Please, sir—the men have no muskets." "Blast!" he said, low-voiced. "Joslin!" He handed him the key to the arms chests, and Joslin threaded his way forward, motioning the men to follow. Soon Ralff came back to my side, his gun loaded and primed. We strained our eyes to keep track of the bear as it weaved among rocks and rises full three hundred yards off, but working its way in. ‘We're too close," said one man. "He be scared. Ralff snorted upon hearing this. "He knows we be waiting," said another. "More truth to that," Ralff whispered to me. Rothman and Harkness stood to their guns, eyes on the bait some eighty yards away. Each had his assistants near him—Vonbader being one, Gardt Wentik, Tal Talliver and Joslin—to unscrew the breech, swab out the chamber, load the slug and powder, replace the firing cap. To avoid interfering with the aimers those four stood well back, all watching with abated breath. "There's the other," someone said. "What?" I startled. "Right-ho," said Ralff, his voice still low. "On my side, far out. Don't bother looking yet." We said little, but muttered comments rose around us—tracking the bears, offering advice to the Captain and gunners—yet mouthed too softly for them to hear. Ralff spoke again to me. "Who, I'm wondering, is keeping his eyes to the front? Wil, let's have you look to your side, and me look to mine." "Why are there two bears? Aren't they supposed to be solitary?" How unfair— unsporting of the bears! I felt resentful. "It's a new one on me," he said. "But you saw one never crossed t'other's line, back there." Meaning, at the cliff. "And they're far distant from each other here. Keep one eye off to larboard, Wil, and tell me what you see. I'll do the same for starboard... And here's my report—this bear, a small one of the kind, has crept up near even with us, but well off, well off." "Nothing here," I said, giving only a brief glance. I stayed fascinated by action to the rear as the bear worked its way closer, now as near to the bait as we. It dashed, it crept, it sidled into shadows, not realizing we could easily make it out unless a large feature masked it. Was it stupid—or merely used to stupid prey? "Here it comes," Uncle said, but the animal sheered off to play more hide and seek. "Interesting creatures," said the doctor. "To what extent, think you, do they suspect we are something new and dangerous?" "Let us have silence, gentlemen," the Captain said. And the game continued. "My friend is a bit closer," Ralff said. "What're we going to do, Guv'nor, if that'un charges, too?" "Now, Sandy—how likely is two at once? Simply hold your fire to the last moment, to be certain of a hit." "We ought tell the gunners." "Nay, they've but one duty now—leave it so. But Wil, how be you?" he whispered. "Nothing here, Master Jacobsen." I had made a quick scan. "Hear this, men? That's discipline for you, and from one untrained, too. Take a lesson." Yet I could spare slight attention from the rear. The first bear sneaked closer but well over toward my side. Fantasies of it charging at the column rose before my eyes, with me shooting it dead by a ball to its brain. Truth to tell, my small missile might not penetrate that massive skull. But here it came. No, it didn't. It made a feint at the bait, racing in from the side, only to pivot yards short, speeding directly away. It hid—partly masked by a fold of ground—then took up its game of slipping from fold to rock to bush. We stood mesmerized, many of us. But not all, fortunately. Ralff reported, "Gone up toward our front. Makes you think they're working together—one to attract us, the other to set an ambush." I heard his low voice, and it recalled me to duty. I took a more thorough scan of my assigned side, but before I finished a collective gasp brought my eyes round to the rear again. The bear made another try, running at high speed—very high, like a galloping horse—reaching down its long neck in passing to steal the bacon. Instead its teeth encountered the rock. The beast thundered past but—apparently determined to succeed, perhaps caught by the rank smell of the seasoned meat—spun in a cloud of dust and started back. This time it paused to nudge aside the rock, and as it reached to steal the meat both guns shot, the two reports lengthening into one peal of thunder. Straight into the air it leaped —or so it seemed—and coming down on all fours with legs still scrabbling, off it went, a chorus of musket shots urging it on. It ran, limping but full-out for seventy yards, then turned sharp away behind an outcropping. But it misjudged and ran into the rock! Glancing off, it lost its feet and rolled, but in a flash was up and slinking into refuge. While we all stared as if stunned, Ralff shouted, "The front!" And there a mule had broken loose—frightened by the thunder of the great guns, running straight away. Coming after was the other bear. They slanted across our front, the mule going all-out in its fear, the bear—impelled by ferocious hunger—going faster. Instinct made me raise my gun but it was too far for any musket shot. As the bear reached out to bite, the mule planted its forefeet and lashed out with the hind, striking the bear in the jaw. The blow would have killed a man, and might have killed another mule, but the bear took no notice—and with the mule practically halted, smashed it down by running right over it. It slowed and turned, that horrible beast, coming back to survey its victim. The mule struggled on the ground, most likely half stunned and its legs broken. The bear circled round it—prancing on tiptoe, it seemed—as it made sure of the safest bite. And we unable to do a thing—either to shoot or shout—for the distance might be four-hundred yards. It stretched down, clamping those enormous jaws on the mule's neck. The poor creature was instantly paralyzed, and the bear lifted it high to drag it away. Rothman, having reloaded, now saw an opportunity. "Shift right!" he ordered. "Sidle over." And as we leaned in preparation to take a step the gun spoke, afrighting more than mules. No-one marked the slug's strike, but the bear took a hint and, stretching its head still higher to lift the mule clear of the ground, ran off between two knolls. * * *</p><p>Still half-stunned ourselves, many of us, we stood beside the carcase of the first bear, our mules reloaded and ready to trek. Half-stunned but nervous, too, we often looked over our shoulders, watching for the next great beast to loom into view. Both shots had struck the bear, one through its ribs and chest, the other hitting its near hip. What a wonder it was able to run off at all, much less at good speed. Further, three musket balls had found it, evidence of good—or lucky—shooting. One had carved a furrow above its eyes, and might have contributed to its mis-aim when trying to hide. The beast had not gone far, lying down and dying shortly beyond view. Yet the bacon stayed in its teeth. The Captain seemed one of those unaffected—indeed, danger improved his temper. "Let's be off. We'll leave this pile of flesh unburied, not even retrieve Jacobsen's precious bacon. Get in line—smartly now!" Nor did events cow Doctor Tannahill, his curiosity always to the fore. He tarried to collect more gore, to clip a hank of hair or fur from the beast's tail, to lift one of its great paws and examine the pad. "So, Wil," he jibed as he passed me on his way to the fore. "Had enough of adventure yet?" I shook my head for lack of a good reply. My limbs were tight, my heart just starting to retreat from my mouth. We'd conquered twice, but how long would fortune favor us? Yet as more than one pointed out, with a mule and one of their own to fill their gullets, what need for any bears to bother us—for a few days, at least. Ahead, newer, kinder-looking territory beckoned. And how long now should it be till we sighted the Arrow? How long to prove the map not a fraud? ~~</p><p>Chapter the 14th ~ Like Home</p><p>We had no bother that day and night, nor the next day as we descended into the great basin—signs of life somewhat increasing, but desert still from a human viewpoint. So it remained until late the next day, as we approached the greenish area I'd earlier seen far off. At mid-afternoon halt Doctor Tannahill motioned me to him, handed me his telescope, and pointed at the darkish smudge. The scope resolved things to a degree, but I could not make out much. "What are they, sir? Do you know?" "Look again. Surely you're reminded of something." "Are they those grass-trees, Doctor?" "I think not—look further." I scanned and squinted till my eyes watered, straining to make out what he thought he'd seen. "I can think of only one thing, yet surely..." My voice trailed off. "No! Can it be?" "I suspect so—stunted and poor though they are. Almost like home, is it not? Tomorrow will tell, for we trend in that direction." "Oilnuts in such a place as this? It seems impossible—my father would have scoffed." "It must be the soil, Wil. And note the drainage—they seem to grow only on the hills and knolls, not between. Think also what this promises—water, fuel, even food." "Food, sir? There's no eating oilnuts." "But what comes with them, lad? Oilpigs, no?" I must have made a face, for he laughed. "I take your meaning—fit only for swine and dogs, are they?" "And that after boiling and hanging in the sun. We would not feed them to the swine lest they taint the pork." "But if a man be hungry as a dog, Wil, what then? If such might keep body and soul together, at least we need not starve." "There are worse fates than starving, sir." He laughed again. "That may be... Let's hope we needn't find out, and there are antelope enough for us as well as the bears... Here, too, might be the explanation for our superfluity of those bears. An oilpig a day would suit them well enough, for the greasy little beasts are nourishing, I would hazard, to an animal with the proper digestive apparatus. This stubby forest appears to cover a large area, so as to feed many bears, and plentiful lions, too." * * * We seemed to gain heart from finding more signs of life, and from the fact no mountain bears made appearance, either by day or night. Next day we marched alongside the oilnut trees—for that is what they were, albeit scraggly of leaves and stunted, none rising beyond five yards tall. We had, at least, gained a supply of wood and thin shade, if we wished it. As for the water needed by the trees, I wondered where it might be. Did it rain more at this spot in the desert, or did streams run underground? Again, my father felt copious rain was needed to make thrifty oilnut trees. I took up the question with Doctor Tannahill, and he pointed out the white patches on the higher peaks. "One can't be certain, but underground streams might be fed by those snowfields, and one or more run to this spot. Soon we'll make the experiment, no doubt, for unless we have a sprinkle our water will run short, and your uncle's beer keg will be raided." "Dig a well, sir, you mean?" "Precisely. Water for us, and for any antelope careless enough to trust us." "They are sweet-looking graceful beasts." "Indeed, but designed by God to serve poor starving men, it seems. I would dearly love greens, though, instead of this eternal diet of meat and starch, and the starch running short." * * *</p><p>After nooning with my uncle and all, I returned to Bessie, ready to load and be off. In Ralff's circle, to my surprise, sat Gardt Wentik. As I approached he abruptly rose and stalked by me, not acknowledging my presence by so much as a nod or glance. Ralff half turned and threw after him, "Any day now." As Ralff turned back Blinder told him, "He'll bear watching, Guv'nor, that one." "Aye," retorted Ralff, "and you'll be the perfect one for the task." He referred, of course, to Blinder's missing eye. It raised a laugh, but Blinder seemed hardly put out, chortling as merrily as the rest. One of Ralff's great skills consisted of leading men by humor as much as by commands and good sense. He was, as I'd before told Wentik, vastly more than merely our old cook. That evening we dug, and on the second try, in a spot chosen by Ralff using a dowsing rod, found copious water at two yards, though the diggers suffered much fatigue. We allowed the liquid to settle, then decanted and boiled it over the remains of the cooking fire. As luck would have it, the night brought a sprinkle, so we were watered-up for several days. For perhaps the fourth time I rinsed my smalls, now sadly bedraggled with sweat and filth. Antelopes were bagged that night. Day dawned fresh and clear, putting the entire caravan—even the mules, it seemed —into a winning mood, and we faced our journey with renewed vigor. Breakfast, however, brought a clash, as the Captain observed Ralff's preparations of the first antelope. "Where are the organs, man?" "Organs, sir?" "Liver, heart—brains even." Ralff attempted to bring humor into it, but he misjudged his man, Captain Ames not being much given to light speech. "Ah, these critters, Captain—little heart and no brains at all." "Never mind your jokes—what have you done with them?" Perhaps he thought Ralff had confiscated them for himself or the crew. "With the offal, of course, sir—and now buried." Then came what can only be called an argument, wasting time and also wasting the good spirits the weather had brought. Ralff assured Captain Ames that to eat anything of the innards would poison us, looking upon lopers as but a somewhat more edible form of vermin, akin to mountain bears and oilpigs and the rest. The Captain held the opposite view, that the animal was healthful nose-to-tail, and to waste nourishment in our circumstance a kind of sin. The doctor was sent for. He listened for rather longer than needful, letting the two put forth their opinions and references at length. No trek Ralff had ever joined ate the organs of wild beasts, while the Captain insisted he'd often made use of those very tidbits. Both cited versions of many expert opinions, from authorities of whom I'd never heard. Surely each exaggerated to a degree, eager to win his point before the audience of men and mules. And now the Captain, realizing what a spectacle they made, whirled around and ordered us back to our work, and to keep watch. Here the doctor stepped in. "Now Jacobsen, have you ever eaten goat?" "Acourse, Doctor, and who ain't?" In his agitation he reverted to the less formal speech he normally used with the crew. "It isn't well known, but this animal is related to the goat." "What? Now that just ain't right, sir. Why, this be a wild critter and the goat tame." "True enough, but both came from Home in the early years, as did the various wild deer we hunt, and a-plenty of the wild birds." "Naw..." "Take what is called the sparrow-hawk. You've seen it, surely, but have you ever seen one stoop at a sparrow? For the former was brought here along with its name, but the latter left behind to avoid it being a pest." "Naw, sir..." "Were you to study natural history, as I have, you would know this." "Enough," the Captain broke in. "No more wastage, and no more burying. In future you'll burn all trash to avoid attracting scavengers. No—silence! Say no more lest you find trouble. You've heard my orders, Cook—now go about your duty." What a frolic this brought on! We came near to having our mutiny then and there, and me in the middle of it, though of course it was all muttering and low-voiced threats, with the Captain gone to the fore and affecting not to hear. "Poison us!" came one comment, oft repeated. "Feed trash!" said another. They mumbled of refusing duty and not standing watch. But Ralff and others scoffed at the thought of not standing guard, and allowing bears and such to come at us. The idea of refusing to march had its adherents, however, and Bielerfeldt—a man ordinarily silent —said in a cold and matter-of-fact tone, "That Captain feller—his be the first weasand we slit." "Here," Ralff said. "No more of that! Now, mates, don't fret so, and I'll look after you, for a thought has come to me. Tonight we'll eat the second one, and I'll assure that those to the fore get the choice delicacies." A laugh went up, and he continued, "If they live without belly-aches, that's fine. And if not... that's fine, too." They agreed by acclamation—with great satisfaction as to the torments Captain Ames and the other tyrants would soon be suffering. Back we went to our duties, as happy as if nothing had occurred. Ralff said to me as we trekked along, "Don't you worry, Wil, for I'll be sure you have a snack, and not eat offal with the fore gang." "But Doctor Tannahill thinks..." "Thinking is fine as far as it goes, lad, but who has the experience, I want to know?" Of course Ralff had no experience either, only depending upon the advice and example of others, all full as ignorant as himself, no doubt. Still, why argue, especially as there existed a chance—however slight—that he knew the right of it. * * *</p><p>Noon came, and up to the company of the leaders I went, allowing the doctor to escort me away as usual. You might well think I closely questioned him, and you'd be correct. He was full confident but cautious as ever, and allowed he'd make sure our trustworthy men—Rothman and all—ate with the crew, while he and my uncle shared the Captain's meal. But he laughed at my concerns. On our getting back, the Master asked for intelligence of the crew. "They greatly fear what they call the innards of the antelope, and a few even spoke of refusal to obey orders. Howsomever, Master Jacobsen stopped their talk by promising they'd not have to eat any meat except of the outer body, until it's sure we'll survive." I failed to mention I would share the crew's repast. They laughed at such superstition, and the Captain said, "I'll spike their guns for them this eve, never fear." My uncle didn't care for this boasting talk. "Bare orders will not suffice, Captain. Some coaxing..." "I've a better way, sir, let me assure you. They'll reverse course soon enough—you'll see." And he would say no more. After our nooning we went back to the march, and on beside the oilnut wood, rarely seeing any life beyond lizards and birds—I not even spying an oilpig, despite I glanced into it often enough. But full daylight was not their time. The mountains stayed where they'd been, distant as ever. Putting his faith in Abel's map, my uncle promised we'd soon near the foothills, implying we'd see the silver ship glinting in the distance upon getting past these trees. Our path wound ever up and down over rolling land, the continuation of those hillocks that supported the oilnut forest. Atop the rises we could see great distances each way except among the trees. Between, in the gentle valleys, our vision became more restricted but never such that any formidable beast could be upon us without warning. In the way people often have, we seemed to put our troubles behind us, simply because none had showed for awhile. Yet hadn't the doctor indicated this same wood of oilnuts should be the haunt of many bears? Ralff said as much to the men, recommending a sharp watch be kept. Surely Captain Ames and our experienced men would also be upon their guard, I reckoned. But the atmosphere hinted of ease and safety, as if fear and tension had fled. I must, I thought, question Rothman tonight, to gain another opinion as to our prospects. * * *</p><p>Our camp sat upon a rise a short distance from the wood, and for variation a pit was dug in that direction—forcing the antelopes, should they wish water, to come out of the broad desert to go between us and dark trees. In the event none came, but we obtained water on the first try. Another matter claimed more attention, however. The remaining antelope carcase, roughly field-dressed after its death, already began to turn in the heat of one day. It was now butchered and the cooking fire laid, with Ralff in close attendance and supervising all preparations. As roasting commenced, back to us strolled the Captain, saying, "Where is the liver, Jacobsen? Have you cooked it yet?" Ralff went immediately on guard, and silently indicated the named organ, lying atop the antelope's fresh hide. "Very well," said Captain Ames, "slice it up and get it frying, as I've long wished for a taste, and must have my share." Ralff sliced the small liver in half, putting both pieces in a fry-pan with a bit of fat— not that these thin creatures had much fat—all to the accompaniment of the Captain's advice, quite as if he'd played the cook himself many a time. "Use the brain, next time—it's plenty fatty. A pity we cannot spare flour to dredge these bits in, and an onion or two for seasoning, if we'd any left. Sear it well on either side to hold the juices, but make sure it's hot through lest some tiny invader be ensconced within." As the experiment continued he leaned forward to sniff. "Ah, yes," he said with a smile—but no more than that, playing the part of gourmand with a light touch. And eventually: "Ready, you think? Let's have a piece now." He brought forth his plate with a flourish, to immediately start in with his knife, cutting off bites and conveying them to his mouth on the point, chewing and swallowing with evident relish. He said but one word while eating, exclaiming, "Hot!" as the first bit landed on his tongue. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, dinner linen being in short supply, as you may imagine. "Now then—if we've no takers for the balance, I'll have that, too." We stared entranced as Ralff placed the second portion on his plate. The Captain turned to go, but Ralff stopped him. "Sir, this matter of burning the offal—and the hide, too, I expect—twill make a prodigious stink all round the camp." "You should have thought of it before, my man, and made your fire to leeward. You've plenty of good hot-burning wood—stir up the blaze and feed the waste on bit by bit, adding fuel as needed to keep it plenty hot. Should take no more than an hour to disperse the nauseous miasma, and tomorrow you might think of these matters beforehand." "But Captain! Twill be a signal and rallying point to every bear and lion for miles around." "True enough, Jacobsen, but what have your burials been for them but a guide along our trail? They've nose enough to scent a smidgen of food at a league's distance, whether under or atop ground. Send off your fragrant cloud, and perhaps they'll chase it as it goes." After the meal was prepared and we had eaten and said our prayers—mine said, at least—and I readied myself for sleep, the Captain briefly recited his tale, referring to me for confirmation. "Truly they seemed astounded," I testified, "and should the Captain be alive and showing no pains tomorrow, I doubt not that many will be converts." The doctor congratulated us both, though none of it had been my doing—and Uncle added, somewhat unwillingly perhaps, "Well done, Ames—example is the best commandant." * * *</p><p>We turned the corner of the forest late next day, stopping early to camp nearby and load with wood for the next few days. The mules' burdens had lightened during our trek, and they could take the extra weight for a brief time. Our feeling of security led us to herd them to various nearby grassy spots to gain one last good feed before striking across arid desert once more. I joined the party gathering fuel, many of us armed for safety's sake, and on the trip back—my Bessie well loaded—noted Gardt Wentik moping along nearby, alone and apart from all, as usual. Against better judgment I steered closer to him, saying, "You seem almost ill—may I aid you in any way?" He replied as I might have expected, with a sneer and a slighting remark. "Yes, counsel from a carrot is my greatest need." I drew myself up to make a blasting counter, but his expression changed, and he said—ordered, rather, "Wait! Let me think. Perhaps... Perhaps there is a way you may assist. Only let me..." How difficult I found it to hold my tongue you may well appreciate. Though boiling inside, I kept silent, and twas well I did. Not looking my way he said in a considering manner, "You claim to know much of the oilnut industry." "Tis no claim!" "Yes, but... But I—though I have a share of experience, I would know more." How odd. Yet it proved half gratifying to hear him admit to ignorance. "And the doctor," he continued, "is a naturalist, is he not?" "That's no mystery, Master Wentik. What is your point, if you have one?" "Let us, after unloading, go up to the good doctor, asking him to join us in this natural plantation, and you and he may gratify your pride by lecturing me on the care and treatment of the oilnut, for I wish to set up in the business with my share of riches, once we are returned." The sneering, self-important tone of this speech came near to setting me off, but remembering my Christian upbringing—and thinking, too, that his arch manner masked worries—I tersely agreed. But he wasn't done. "And as we wend through the camp, let us loudly extol the manifold virtues of the oilnut, while I congratulate you on your family's success with it." I ground my teeth. "Your arrogance exceeds all decent bounds, but I'll agree. Let me advise you, though, to play a different tune with the doctor, for fools are not among his delights." ~~</p><p>Chapter the 15th ~ Rumblings</p><p>We unloaded, Gardt Wentik and I, and he said in a loud voice. "Well, shall you introduce me to the doctor or must I go up to him myself? For I'm determined to know more." "Why oilnuts of all things, sir?" "They've done well for your family, have they not?" "Until our recent troubles—yes." "Then why not for another? Come, let us go." We started toward the fore, leading our mules, and he added, "Surely there is room for another producer, is there not?" "No doubt, for there is much demand. But where will you make a plantation, for the trees are choosy as to soil and setting." "Why not here? Certainly no one has claimed this land." I laughed at that, and he joined in. "Nor is likely to, I think. A long way to market!" I declared. Still laughing, we came upon Doctor Tannahill, and I said, "Doctor—Gardt Wentik here wishes to know more of the oilnut, and won't be satisfied with my teaching." "Truly, sir," Wentik added, "I believe a man could do well to pursue this occupation if he knew full information as to the habits of the tree. Can we not go among them and have you give me a learned viewpoint?" The doctor smiled, saying, "Why not, young man? But dusk approaches and we'd best be armed. Uh, Captain...?" Wentik selected a musket, looking minutely at lock, pan and flint—then loaded and primed it. "Your caution is wise, lad," Doctor Tannahill told him, "for certain of these fellows are careless with their arms, and will one day be sorry when misfires embarrass them at a crucial time." "I'm no tyro, sir," said Wentik in his self-congratulatory manner. "Let us be off." He steered us away from the mass of men, and we gathered around one of the taller specimens. A great deal of dead wood littered the earth in this forest, for the dry climate seemed to preserve it from the speedy destruction that kept our plantation clear. I stooped to begin loading Bessie, and the doctor opened his lecture. "The oilnut is a distinct species, its only known relative being a small herbaceous bush, many of which we have burned on this..." Wentik sneaked a quick look round, then interrupted. "Never mind that, sir. The men plot mutiny—we must do something." The doctor looked hard at him, saying with some coolness, "We'll continue the exposition. Note the jointed fashion of growth, similar to those spiny things we met awhile back—but the similarity is only incidental. Now—come this way." And he led us further from the other workers. "Aren't you going to gather any fuel, lad?" he reminded Wentik. Stopping by a new sprout, he pointed at it as if lecturing. "Did they say it in so many words, or do you judge it mere chat and braggadocio?" "The exact word mutiny they never used, but they muttered enough hints to be sure of their intentions. They wished me to join them." "And you replied...?" "That I considered their tales of treasure unlikely and would not commit myself to a phantasm of wealth, nor did I care for evil-doing." "I hope you've not been foolish, young fellow. You'd have done better to equivocate. In future show more interest, but say you fear the penalties." He turned to point to another tree, saying to me, "Where are the young nuts, Wil? Shouldn't we be seeing them by now?" "They are there, Doctor—but tiny yet in these un-thrifty stubs, and hidden by the leaves." At an especially stunted bole I reached to feel and pluck one out, not half the size of my littlest fingernail. "I've no intention, sir," quoth Wentik, continuing the earlier conversation, "of admitting a fear I despise to acknowledge." "It's your life," the doctor replied. "See you guard it well amongst these unscrupulous men. Now—who are the leaders? And gather fuel, for Heaven's sake. Let us not stay as bait for bears any longer than we must." He led us toward the edge, as Gardt Wentik and I busied ourselves. Arriving in the open, we could see all the crew gathered in camp, and my uncle looking in our direction. "Well, then?" the doctor prompted. "Who among them?" Wentik hesitated. "I'm not a nark to point my fellows out for punishment." "Your fellows, eh? You've a stiff neck, young man, but let me point out that judges have a way of limbering it—and stretching it, too." He meant punishment by hanging. "He who knows of a felony and says nothing, even though he takes no part, is guilty of conspiracy before the fact, and liable to the full force of law." He halted, and spoke low but intensely. "Jacobsen, I know, for he is their leader throughout. But who else?" "Not Ralff!" I cried. "You favor him, lad, and so do I, yet the signs are clear. He is the means by which your uncle recruited this vile crew, and the center of their every action, for good or ill." "Yes, it is Ralff," Wentik sullenly agreed. "And whom else? Becker? Konecki called Blinder?" "Mere followers." "Rob?" I suggested. "A simpleton." "Then what of Bielerfeldt?" I asked. "He seems a nasty one." "Yes, and Talliver too, I expect," said Wentik. "Those two and no others? Well, it's enough and more," the doctor said. "I'll have a word in the Captain's ear, but he might have his own candidates in any case—not much gets by him." He raised his voice. "Good luck with your future plantation, young man— I consider oilnuts a worthwhile commodity." And whispering again, "Now break off from us as though we'd quarreled." Wentik made a good show for whomever might be watching. He jerked his mule aside, swinging an arm back toward us and stalking off as we stared after him. Nearing the camp he announced to no-one in particular, "They act as if they know all things!" * * * Another pit was dug, giving sufficient water to top off our containers. It led to the gaining of five antelopes, for they came back again and again despite the decimation of their ranks. The Captain ordered that only one—and the organs of all, of course—be eaten today, and the balance turned into dried and smoked meat – or buccan, it was called—the preparation of which took time out of our march. As we loaded mules for the next stage in our trek, Ralff Jacobsen questioned me over yesterday's incident. "Has that cur Wentik been a-bothering you again?" This tack I'd not expected, so hesitated to answer. Unwillingly I admitted, "He called me carrot." "Eh! He deserves a hiding for that, if naught else," he said tongue-in-cheek. "And then he had the gall to ask for help." "How so?" "He'd a tale of wanting to set up an oilnut plantation, but twas only moonbeams." "Ah, I see why he came to you. And the doctor's presence...?" "My knowledge proved not enough for him, but he must speak with another. Even so, it seems he knows more than either of us, by his own telling. What a fool!" Ralff chuckled. "I fear you know your man." "He's his own oracle, and needs no other." "Own oracle!" he laughed. "I must remember that, Wil. Own oracle, indeed!" Now I essayed my own question, daring though it might be. "What are these riches he spoke of, Master Jacobsen—riches to be gained to buy his plantation?" His turn it became to be silent—thinking furiously, no doubt, how to answer. "Well, lad, tis but a rumor, coming from idle minds speculating on that map the Master so avidly gazes upon." "I have seen the map, and no riches are indicated on it." "Er... The story, Wil, is it was your map, and you carried it to your uncle—true?" "In part, for twas among my father's papers, which we found going through them." "And it showed no treasure or any such?" "Neither I nor my mother could make heads or tails of it. But how would a treasure be indicated on a map?" "The picture of a chest, perhaps?" "Nothing like that, sir." "Crossed shovels or mattocks?" "No." He paused, then came out with, "A spaceship?" "What?" I gave a giggle. "No sir—nor even a bear or lion or oilnut did I see on it. Truly, it made no sense as a map." Ralff ruminated for a time before asking in a speculative tone, "But why would these great gentlemen be leading us on to what might well be our deaths? There must be something, Wil lad, so what can it be?" "I know not, Master Jacobsen, except my uncle has some discovery in mind, while the doctor would collect plants. And I, believing this would be hardly more than a few days' walk, came for adventure. But surely you can't mean I'll never more see home." He would not say, withdrawing into himself. Had I done well by spinning this tale? I knew not. * * *</p><p>The day became overcast and flying bugs severely pestered us, drawn by the uncured meat, no doubt. At noon we further dried it over the cook-fire, but they still clung to us, as did another pest, this one a mountain bear. It kept its distance, though, and even additional drying of meat over evening fires did not bring it nearer. So we thought, at any rate, for no-one admitted to sighting it during the night, nor were arms discharged. Next day we still had our escort, pacing along well out of range. Ralff claimed it to be making a death watch, and predicted one of us would soon die. But whether he believed this or simply wished to afright the men I could not discern. I asked in a pert manner whether a sighting of two bears would mean two were to die? But he would only say twould be better if we never learned. I could have argued that we'd seen several bears yet suffered only one death, but felt silence the better choice. Then all changed, for during our afternoon halt atop a goodly rise the clouds thinned, letting sunlight through over a wide area. Out came the telescopes, looking round for bears or landmarks or whatever, and of a sudden the leaders changed their stances, gathering close and all looking in one direction. "The ship!" Ralff said in a whisper, perhaps unaware he'd spoken aloud. Soon the rumor put the men in a tumult, though no word had yet been passed. Observing this, the Captain decided to make an announcement in the hope of bringing order. He called us together except for sentinels front and rear. "Well, men, at camp tonight or maybe tomorrow we'll see the goal of this expedition—those of us with long sight, at least. The Master will break out his beer this night, saved all this time for such an occasion. Further, I can now announce that a bonus will be paid to each and every one of you as reward for bearing up well during this long trek through harsh desert. The size of it will depend upon what we find and what can be salvaged, but some reward will be paid in any case." One man could not contain himself. "What is found, sir?" he shouted. The Captain grinned. "A most famous thing—the Arrow of Time itself!" The welkin rang, as the saying is, to the shouts of one and all, including myself. For though not surprised, I was caught up in the excitement of the men. "Hurrah, hurrah!" we shouted again and again. But when the halt ended, and we started off leading our mules once more, Ralff spoke to me in a quiet voice. "And how will they cheer, you think, when we arrive and find we are starving in the midst of a blazing desert?" And I asked myself, How did Abel manage to survive alone in this horrid place? ~~</p><p>Chapter the 16th ~ You See It</p><p>Beer, it seems, cannot be hauled for days in the hot sun and expected to retain its goodness. The small keg provided but a half cup for each man, yet that proved more than enough. The brew being poured out, everyone waiting for the toast before drinking. "To success!" Uncle cried, and all drank. The responses of the men don't bear repeating, and of the fore group only the doctor's proved memorable. "Well now," said he, "you have again made the wiser choice, Wil." For water was always my drink. The balance of the night went well, those on sentry-go not being disturbed by our menacing companion. Dawn broke fresh upon a happy crew, eager and willing—and in a hurry to be off. Only Ralff Jacobsen seemed less than sprightly, he being again withdrawn into himself, appearing to have much on his mind. We marched with swift paces, urging the mules to greater speed. At every rise telescopes whipped out, and in every hollow we fretted that we couldn't climb faster. At noon halt Uncle granted me a look, and I peered where directed—and peered and peered. And when I finished with peering I said, "I cannot make it out. There's a bright glint but no form to it." "Of course," my uncle assured me. "We are too far for it to be clear with these optics. But wait until tomorrow—one more stage should do it." The morrow came, with low clouds preventing our clearly seeing at a distance. But on we went, and by afternoon halt the skies cleared. Oh, bitter bitter disappointment! After much looking through telescopes by all and sundry, it must be admitted that either we saw an exceedingly small ship or a large shiny rock, or perhaps a piece of a ship. This would be worst of all, for it might mean the Arrow had broken up in landing, and its cargo been scattered and destroyed. The thought disheartened my uncle, and his mood communicated itself to the rest of us. * * *</p><p>Joslin came back as we marched. "Master Wil, the Master asks for you." "Now? Can it not wait till camp?" "I will lead your animal." I went, and found myself questioned as to the men's moods. Soon I returned and retrieved Bess. "Ah, Wil—more troubles?" said Ralff. Staying with my plan to keep to the truth insofar as possible, I said, "They wish to know how the men accept this disappointment." "Tis good to know they have a concern... And you told them what, may I ask?" I shrugged. "I said, As you might expect—discouraged but keeping on." He seemed on edge, not the usual jolly Ralff. I asked, "And you, sir—are you discouraged?" "Perhaps, for what are we to do for vittles? That is my concern, lad, as you might expect from the cook. Heh-heh." But his laugh sounded forced. "Could we not dig for water again, and kill lopers, as well?" "But not every spot in this hellish burnt place has water, and even should I dowse and get a pull on the twig, how deep might it be? As for lopers, how long are they to last with us a-shooting them, and bears and lions hunting them down. You see my point?" "I suppose. But men have lived in this desert before, have they not—hermits and such?" "And dodging the fierce beasts, think you? Have you known any?" "No... But I've heard tales, and many of them from you!" He laughed again, this time with honest feeling. "Well now, lad... Old Ralff tells many tales—some true, and some by way of passing time. Yet don't worry your head too much at what I say, for rest assured—if I must starve the others and myself as well, I'll see you have enough to keep space between belly and backbone. Yes, Ralff will take care of you, and you'll take care of old Ralff if you can, I'm certain-sure." Odd, but the more he assured me of his concern and care the more I doubted him. I'd been much in sympathy with Ralff Jacobsen from our first meeting, and resistant to the suspicions of the Captain and Doctor, but my loyalties were reordering themselves. And he now gave another nudge to them. In too innocent a voice he asked me, "What of Abel DeGroot?" "Who, sir?" I had made a mistake, not realizing he must know of DeGroot. He'd ambushed me, and I must answer without delay. "That old man? I forgot him, what with all the other happenings coming at once." "He came from out the desert, did he not, Wil? How'd he survive, you think?" "So he claimed, but made less than sense, talking of things mystical. He said nothing of mountain bears, tis certain, but railed at the very elements for working to foil him. But he mainly spoke of beer—ever demanding drink—and that killed him in the end, I believe. On the heels of his burial came robbers, and my errand to Uncle for reinforcement right after." "What of the map?" "The map of my father—that which my uncle now looks to?" "Your father or Abel? Did DeGroot give it to your father?" "Impossible, sir! My father left us long before the old man came. Did I not tell you of this?" "But then, Wil, how came your father by the map, eh?" I shrugged. "Who is to know, sir? Mother found it, and that is the first we saw it." He kept silent for many minutes before continuing, not willing to accept my explanation. "How came your father by it? Could he have met DeGroot before?" "I cannot say. But why does this matter? Do you believe it false, and leading us astray?" No answer came, and he stayed long silent. * * *</p><p>Next day late we reached the shiny object, which proved a slab of polished metal, un-rusted and un-pitted after all the years' assault by sun and rain and snow. Stranger yet, it was propped against a boulder and held in place by smaller rocks so nothing in an ordinary way could move it. We gathered round it—feeling and striking it with our fists to test its strength. It was thin but resistant to denting. A mystery... or perhaps a beacon. "Up the hill farther on," the Captain ordered, "and make camp on top." On top, where we could look over the country next morn. We dragged ourselves up the steep and rock-strewn slope, our vigor sapped by the day's disappointments. Near dark the leaders gained the peak, and one by one they halted as if turned to stone. Soon the word trickled back—the Arrow lay slightly beyond. So it did, hidden in the dale between the hill just climbed and the lower slope of the mountain beyond. It seemed half buried, on its side rather than upright, rocks and bushes shielding it, the upper side thickly covered in years of dust, the clear parts not nearly so bright as that one piece that had drawn us from two days' march. But you could see it, plain as anything. Indeed, you could not miss it. Another argument started—the Master wishing to go right on down to it, the Captain insisting we camp in safety and wait till the morrow. And so we did, though Uncle was near mortified by the waiting. The men were ecstatic—all but Ralff, who seemed grim. He spoke neither to me nor others, doing his duty with the fire and pots—but meeting with his cronies by ones and twos, and whispering—always whispering. I felt unnerved, and made my feelings known to the fore group, who disagreed over what should be done. "Until he makes a move..." my uncle said. "One thing," said Captain Ames. "I shall part him from his first mate. If they are split, one will hesitate to act without the other." "Gather the reliable men to us, Captain," Doctor Tannahill advised. Captain Ames scoffed. "Which are those, sir? I know of but one or two at most." So it went, and in the end nothing further was done except to warn our Caldridge men, Rothman and all, to be alert for menace inside as well as out. It proved another bright night—with our world's many satellites no night is full dark unless there are clouds. The gunners manned the swivels at either end of our ridgetop camp, and loose rock on top we arranged into a sort of bulwark in places, low and partial. One bearish companion crept close but not so near we could attempt to shoot. As always, I worked with Ralff preparing the mess, and he plied me with many questions. "Your uncle, Wil—think you will he keep his word as to this bonus he offers?" "I'm quite sure he will. Why not?" "But he has the name, you must admit, of a tight-fisted man, has he not?" "Most true, I suppose, but he has been generous enough to me." "Of course, for you are his heir—it would be against nature for him to be otherwise. But that is you, and we are no relations whatsoever." "I know this—that he treats his men well, and they are true to him." "His men. But we are mere hirelings." "He thinks well of you, Master Jacobsen, and has me march near to learn from you." "Hmm. And the Captain has you work with me—why is that?" "That is different—so I may not become a pet and favorite." He laughed. "And they have you report what we say, not so?" "Often, for they always wish to know the men's moods." "You're a good honest lad, Wil—I hope you may not be too honest for your own welfare." My conscience now began to prick me, knowing how often I'd misled poor Ralff. But I replied, "My mother would not agree, sir—not with too honest. How would your mother have had you behave?" He sighed and became pensive. "I hardly now remember, lad, for it's been many an old year." In Ralff Jacobsen honesty and dishonesty, and good and evil mixed like dough in a marble cake—first one showing at the surface, then another. * * *</p><p>Much excited, we could hardly wait breakfast before trooping down to the ship, not a mile away. But the hillside sloped steeply, so we must pick our impatient way with care. Once down, the mountain seemed to tower over us, though the ship itself was huge, full one hundred-fifty yards long—its upper side far above our heads. Surprising numbers of bushes partly masked the lower side, as if it somehow attracted water or rested in a damp spot. Its base, to our right hand—that is, toward the south—contained a door, fully exposed but for a shallow screen of loose rock at its low side. It tilted with the ship, of course, and opening it likely would require study. Captain Ames ordered the setting up of our camp around this end of the great vessel. He placed the guns to either side, with Rothman and Harkness as gunners, while we muleteers unloaded and tethered our beasts. The Captain gave his orders. "Talliver and Wentik—you are loaders for Rothman. Vonbader and Sansom—the same for Harkness. For this night's camp the rest of you shall build a bulwark of rocks from the ship's tail end to its midpoint. Rear it high enough to lean on and shoot, and a good yard thick. The rest of us, gentlemen, may have a try at this door." The door blended smoothly with the hull of the ship, its handle cunningly recessed and released by a hidden spring. But we knew nothing of how it operated at this time, and the Captain, Master and Doctor huddled round, scratching their heads and offering up theories like grain scattered to hens. They were well at it with no success, and the men out collecting rocks when Ralff Jacobsen came up to Captain Ames. Using his low dialect, he asked, "With permission, Cap'n, the mules be needin' a feed, and I spy a bit forage pon the hill o'er there. Might we take out a few of em to fill their...?" "Yes yes, go on, man—but only six or eight at one time. Go!" And he turned back to the door, worming his way between Uncle and the doctor. Ralff motioned a few of his cronies to himself, and un-tethering several mules, led them up the shoulder of the hill we'd come down, trailing off toward the south. Among them paced the mule carrying Ralf's tools and spices in two boxes, not yet unloaded, though I knew it not until later. The men out getting rocks joined the gang, and all but the two or three on the guns, Harkness and Vonbader looking after in puzzlement. As for me, I used my status as a Clercal to avoid rock-gathering and remain by the ship, fully engrossed in the struggle to force or unlock the door. I watched for some time until a call broke through my concentration. "Oi! Oi there, Young Master." The call came from Ralff's crony Donalson, swinging his arm from a distance beyond the few piled stones that thus far made up our bulwark. "The Guv'nor wants you." "What? What is it?" "Wants to show you sump'n, he does." He again beckoned urgently. Uncertain, I looked round for the doctor, but Joslin volunteered. "I'll go along with you, Master Wil, if you wish." "Very good, Joslin. I thank you." We crossed the stony flat and started up the hill, catching up to Donalson, who slowed but didn't wait for us. Nearing the top, Ralff came toward us to wave, and we caught up with him and crossed over the crest. He took hold of my elbow with his left hand, casually reaching across with his right to pluck my gun from me as if it were a straw. "What?" I cried. "Give me..." Joslin leaped forward to grab his shoulder, but Ralff pivoted and hit him one- handed with the butt of my gun, knocking him to his hands and knees. Joslin struggled up and raised his musket but Bielerfeldt aimed a pistol and shot, and Joslin tripped, dropping his weapon. "Get that musket," Ralff growled at Bielerfeldt. I screamed and tried to break free but he crushed my elbow in a merciless grip. I struck out with my left hand, only to have Donalson grab my wrist and jam a pistol into my side. "Here!" Ralff said. "Put it up, for gawd's sake. And you, Wil, stop yer thrashin', for we needs a hostage, and you've become it." "You beast! Free me or hang." "No, lad, for there ain't no judges out here, and no laws but needs must. Stop I say— or I'll shake your brains loose." I'd no choice. Crying for poor Joslin, I meekly let myself be led away. We came to the others with the mules. "Move lively!" Ralff commanded, "lest they manhandles one of them swivels up the hill, for I wouldn't put it past neither a them gunners. Move!" We rushed down the hill and across a flat farther to the south, Ralff wanting to put a mile and more between his gang and the ship. My breath was well-nigh gone when we at length turned behind a rise and picked out a camping spot that would shelter our fires from eyes back at the ship. I say fires, for Ralff hoped to use fire to keep off wild beasts. As for defense, he had concealed firearms beneath false bottoms in his two boxes, but only two carbines—short-barreled muskets often used by horsemen—and four brace of pistols, plus powder and ball, of course. And Bielerfeldt now sported my cap- lock gun, while another held Joslin's musket. "Get busy gathering brush and we'll keep our backs to this rock, so twill be warm enough come night." They had no tents, and merely the blankets Ralff's mule wore to keep the boxes from chafing its back. For food they'd stuffed their shirts with dried loper, and stolen a few near-empty sacks of rice or barley. For water they carried only their personal bottles, not necessarily full. All in all it seemed one of the worst-equipped expeditions ever formed—typical, perhaps, of the thoughtless ways of criminal life, ever focused on today, with slight planning for tomorrow. They cooked and ate. I had no hunger, so contented myself with sips from my full bottle. I hoped to use as little water as I could, to save the rest for my escape. For now, though, they tethered me as well as any mule, a rope tied round my waist with a big knot in back that I couldn't see nor easily reach, and fastened to a sizable rock. I tried to plan for escape, but the memory of Joslin falling and bleeding away his life filled my thoughts as I prayed for his soul. After their poor gobbled meal, and observing their thoughtless behavior, it became obvious that Ralff alone of this gang could use his head. My spirits began to revive. I turned an accusing look at Ralff, and when he noticed he said, "I should apologize, Wil lad, but you see our poverty. Without you for hostage we've no bargaining power, and we purely do this to protect our share of the loot from the ship." "Tis up to you, Master Jacobsen, for you have the best of me. But you've sorely lied to and betrayed me." "Naw, Wil, for you're but a guest and comrade for now, and we'll return you safe and sound if our demands be met." "A guest? Then I'll have my gun back if you please, for one doesn't steal from guests." He chuckled and others laughed, but I held my gaze on him. "Now Wil..." "I wish to defend myself from man or beast. Should a bear visit, I'll use my own weapon more effectively than anyone else could." ‘Well, now..." He scratched his beard and looked round. "If I were to agree with you, Wil, you'd willingly give me your oath not to point it at us and run off, eh?" "I'm hardly likely to run off into this howling wilderness that's a-prowl with ferocious man-eating beasts. But if you must have it—here: I'll only use my firearm in defense of myself—this I swear." "Well now, Wil," he said with a judicious manner, "that's handsome enough." "Wait!" barked Bielerfeldt. "I got this fair an' square as loot." "No, ya didn't," Ralff said. "Ya had the musket as loot, and ya traded. Give it up." "It's mad ta arm him!" "No matter. The boy and I have made a pact, and I'm standin' by it. Get yer musket back." A glowering Bielerfeldt unwillingly handed over my gun. I checked, and found no cap mounted, for I had by habit reverted to my father's teaching. I took one from my cartridge pouch and seated it. "See there," I twitted him, "we're all a mite safer now." Ralff smiled, but Bielerfeldt took it ill. Now Rob wormed his way forward. His eyes went to Ralff then sidled away, and he said to a nearby rock. "I'm wondrin' why ya call this Wil boy and lad." I froze inside, but Ralff simply looked at him. Rob's eyes flicked toward Ralff and away again. Dead silence, as if all held their breaths. Certainly I did. I shifted around to face near Rob, my gun ready but not bringing it to my shoulder nor yet cocking it. "I said..." Rob began. "An I heard. What's yer meanin', ferret?" Rob's eyes flicked back and forth, never meeting Ralff's. "I spected at the start. An a couple days back, this Wil goes with the doctor like uzally, and I follows behind real careful-like, and I see'd... what I see'd." His voice rose. "If ya doubts me—why, pull down them trews and find out." I sickened at the thought of this worm spying on me, yet I knew by instinct only boldness would serve. "Yes, tis true! I've fooled you this entire time, and would have continued except for Peeping Rob... But there'll be no touching my trousers nor any part of me." I cocked my gun and thought of the pistol hidden beneath my shirt—and it with a cap, I was sure. Bielerfeldt pointed his musket in my direction and started to cock it. "Let down that hammer, Master Bielerfeldt," I cried out, changing my aim, "or I'll send you to the devil with a twitch of my finger." He swore, and it seemed to bring Ralff out of a trance. "Hold, all of you! There'll be no shootin' this day, unless someone spies a bear. Sandy! Donal! Get on watch." He glared all round, then turned to me. "Now, you..." "Hold on, Guv'nor," Bielerfeldt interrupted. "She's put herself in our hands, an I say..." "Silence!" Ralff roared. "You say? Who's lected you Guv'nor, I'd like to know? You've lected me, an' while I'm guv'nor twill be as I say—no other." They grumbled at this, and not only Bielerfeldt. But Ralff faced them down and again turned to me. "So, Wil... First, what's your blasted true name?" His dialect returned to higher-class the moment he spoke to me. "Valys. Val, I'm called." "Val—almost the same. Now, Val, how many lies have you told me, up till this here minute?" "You can hardly blame me for hiding my sex, Master Jacobsen, for I couldn't have come along on this trek had I not." "No, I suppose... Bieler! Listen if you wish, but I'm getting confounded tired of you glarin' at me. Turn round and use your ears alone." That evil man reluctantly turned his back, scowling fit to fright the devil. "Now, Wil... er, Val—what other lies have you spun? Let it be full truth and nothing added." I hesitated before saying, "The map." "I know you've a map." "What I mean—we got it from old Abel, as you suspected." "Ah... Makes more sense than your father having it." "Then that gang came... Yours, wasn't it, Master Jacobsen?" "Aye, lass, and some few of these fellers made a part of it. But it didn't do its work, for it seems your whole kin are fighters. And what more?" "I believe that's all, sir." There remained the matter of Gardt Wentik, but I'd no intention of sharing that with anyone, nor had he need to know. "Hmm. But you spied on us—have you forgot that?" "It's no secret the leaders often questioned me as to what the men spoke of, and this I told you before. But consider also, Master Jacobsen—did you not in part befriend me so as to have an intelligencer of your own amongst them?" He looked long at me in silence before saying, "Eh, Val, you're as shrewd a younker as could be. Good enough, then—we're square. But know this—you shall obey orders. If you do, and if your uncle plays his hand in the right way, you'll see home and mother again. But we be a desperate set of men, and not much inclined to mercy for mercy's sake. We'll have our fair share of treasure—that is to say, at least two parts in three with all divided alike—or none of you or yours will leave these wild lands. You may count on it." I received this in silence. What could I answer to such an open threat, and me fully in their power, despite my having arms? My voice box felt frozen, but I managed after a time to say, "Only one thing, sir—let none of these molest me, for I'll put a ball into him who does, or else into my own heart." "You'll go back to your uncle untouched, is my will. But all is up to him in the end. We must have treasure—and mules, muskets, tents—all in proper measure. Aye, and one of them great cannons your uncle so wisely brought." * * *</p><p>How tediously did that day pass. They took no care for noonings, merely sharing out dried meat to those who had none. I chose not to eat. We waited more, little being said or done, and that little done all higgledy-piggledy along with plenty of oaths and grumbling. While Ralff helped keep the men in line before, he no longer played the good soldier, but deep in his own thoughts let them direct themselves. I began to lose respect for him. I wished to volunteer no speech, but mid-afternoon—tired of watching birds and bugs and lizards—I came out with, "If you wish to make a bargain over me, would it not be best to speak with my uncle ere long?" "In good time, lass. I must let him stew awhile, thinking what might have happened to you. Twill soften his determination to worry—and you being a gal is well, for all them will be that much more concerned for your fate." I felt a chill. "You're a cruel man, Ralff Jacobsen." "Think it if you wish. No matter, for tis all in the way of business." I turned away, and now he bestirred himself, going out with his forked twig to search for water. He soon set the men to digging—a slow enough task, for they'd thought to bring only one shovel, and must use it turn and turn about. The ground proved rocky and the work arduous and to no use. When the hole got deep enough to hide the digger Ralff gave it up and pulled out his twig again. He went farther out and to a lower spot this time—more successfully, finding damp within two yards. While they scooped and settled the thin mud that entered the hole, and readied a fire to boil it, he took further thought for the future. We camped behind a long cliff-like stone four yards high and more, so near vertical as to be un-climbable. "Let's see if we can snag a rope up there." He pointed to the top. "And we'll have a sentinel up watchin' fer bears and men alike." Next he ordered them to fill in the well with brush, and cover it over with rock to keep animals out—the men grumbling at the extra labor, and giving no thought to need. "And now, lads," Ralff added, "I'm thinkin' what a fine view Master Rothman would have a us o'er the sights a that great gun a his. So we'll be makin' us a bulwark like the one ye neglected ta finish back there at t'old Arrow." ~~</p><p>Chapter the 17th ~ Captive</p><p>This crew disliked the building of walls for Ralff no less than for Captain Ames, and made slow enough progress, barely reaching knee-high by dark despite continual urgings and exhortation. As it rose stone by stone I made sightings as best I could, and from how it appeared to me they would need walls higher than their heads to be safe from shots within normal range of the swivels. Still, they'd erected a foundation by the time all were fagged out. By night my discouragement intensified, for against my will I had hoped of rescue through the day. With dark I could hope no longer, for who would be foolhardy enough to wander during the hours favored by great carnivores? I chewed a small piece of loper for supper and drank of the new-boiled water, foul though it tasted to me, saving my water bottle against contingencies. The sentry atop the stone changed over, taking with him one of the two blankets as some protection from the cold desert night, and with orders to tie himself down lest he fall asleep and roll off. The rest—tired unto death, to hear them tell it—threw themselves down like swine between the fires and the back-wall, while Ralff took the first watch. His main duty would be to feed the fires, for it could hardly be believed our slim armament would be enough to fend off such creatures as we'd encountered, unless every weapon be discharged at once and with perfect aim. I huddled with my back to that same wall, determined to stay on watch myself, my gun ready but un-cocked. I feared the beasts without, nor felt any more comfortable toward the beasts within the half-ring of fires. After trying to stay awake all night, my eyes eventually closed, and I slept on and off until first light—awakening stiff and cold, and lying on my deadened right arm. The fires had gone out, and no-one kept the watch. Antelope sniffed at the closed well, and I thought to try a shot but could not get my feeling back until after they fled. Man by man the camp came back to life—a multitude of oaths and complaints filling the clean air of dawn. It so fatigues me to transcribe their crude speech that I will render it in normal mode from here on. But you may imagine the men using the rudest and foulest of argot, and Ralff Jacobsen switching back and forth from their low tongue to a more considerate mode of address when speaking with me. "Who's the fool who slept on watch?" He meant the lower watch, for the man atop the rock had been unrelieved and expected to nap. Ralff harangued them for a time, but it came out the usual way of these things. The man who followed Ralff insisted he'd wakened his relief, and that man vociferously denied he'd been shaken awake. The carbine of the sentry was found in an intermediate position, so no justice could be done. As the sun lofted itself above the horizon Ralff set men to work clearing the well in hopes of finding its bottom filled with clear water. Which it was, but still of the distasteful variety. After breaking fast it was back to building wall for most, but Bielerfeldt Ralff selected for responsible duty. "You'll parley with the high-and-mighties," he directed him. "I should want to go, but these legs are no longer fit for scampering over hill and dale at high speed. Three shall carry long guns, and the fourth a brace of pistols." "There's a fourth long gun." Bielerfeldt nodded at me. "So tis," Ralff replied, "and we'll keep that one... Now take your way roundabout, keeping an eye peeled for large furry creatures, and come down the mountain behind the ship, not showing yourselves until the last minute, and from far off. Call out, and ask for parley with the Master—no other." "That Ames will stick his nose in." "Might be, but you want this gal's uncle. Tell him our conditions—the treasure shared between all, with no man having more than another. And all the gear divided likewise—musket or mule, blanket or shovel—man for man and gang for gang." "Heh! How likely is that?" "And one thing more—we must have one of the great guns with its loads. They'll place all this a quarter mile from the ship, and we'll pick it up—releasing the girl when we do." "I tell you, Guv'nor, they'll never agree." "And if not, Bieler, they'll never see her alive—you tell them. Might be they'll need time to realize the position and come to terms, so this first parley ain't to be thought of as final. Then when they do agree, we'll offer to march along with them on the way back, for there's strength in numbers." Off they went, sneaking along, their eyes everywhere but to the fore. And now I must do the thing I had too long postponed. "Master Jacobsen," I whispered, "once you offered to escort me from the camp for..." I stopped, tongue-tied. He gave me a considering look, then stooped to untie my leash from its rock. "Could you not...?" I indicated the knot at my back. "No, lass—and I will tie this to my wrist, so if you shoot me you must drag my carcase along behind." He jested, of course, yet did what he said, embarrassing me so much the more. But I was in no position to argue. As we crossed the bulwark a few jeers followed, both he and I ignoring them—and we came soon back, with me being tied once more to the rock. I had my knife, of course, but what point in attempting to cut loose when jailed not least by men but by dangerous beasts? I would bide my time for now, and see what response came from my uncle. * * *</p><p>How slowly did this day wear along for me. Used to constant effort, even if only leading an animal—and used to interesting speech, even if only with ignorant hired men—I was left to the workings of my imagination and observation of soaring birds. The sun warmed our camp upon its rising, glancing brilliant rays off the smooth rock-face behind us. Till noon we had no hint of cover, the temperature rising hour by hour until I felt my body sizzle. At last came the blessed shade, yet the rock held its heat for a goodly time. The party sent to the ship took a good while returning by a roundabout route, cautious not simply for fear of bears but of ambush by the loyal party. I told myself not to hope, but hope I did nonetheless. Who would not in my place? Yet I remained only too aware of my uncle's tentative support for my father, and his hesitation to offer assistance to Wilderedge until the map caught his interest. Back came Bielerfeldt and sat himself down before Ralff, his expression indicating what had occurred. "Twas as I said—Ames came forward and gave no way, only saying we should come in and our crimes would be forgot if the girl proved unharmed. No give at all." Ralff showed some surprise. "The uncle didn't show himself?" "Nay, though we called loudly. And here's a thing—Ames spoke of him, as if a boy!" "How so?" "The lad must take his chances. So Ames himself declared." "Donal!" Ralff called to where the man loafed. "What heard or saw you any different?" But Donalson claimed the same. Ralff stayed long silent, making no answer to the amendments and boasting of Bielerfeldt. He turned a cold look on me. "This bodes ill for you." The blood froze in my veins. I'd heard that phrase before, but never did I know its full meaning till now. He sent them away, turning to me with a whisper. "Tomorrow we'll go again, but your uncle plays a dangerous game. What's his reasoning, eh? Does he hope to better the bargain? Hold nothing back, for it's in your interest to tell all." My voice nearly stuck in my throat, but I took a breath and got out, "You said yourself—he is tight-fisted." Did I show myself disloyal? Perhaps—but what of Uncle's loyalty to me, and to his own brother before? "So niggardly as this—to risk the life of his heir? Where's the sense in that?" "I have a young brother—he is the heir." He kept silent a time, looking at me and away. "You hear them?" I'd heard one remark. If they don't buy her we'll still get some good of it. Sandy Becker said it. "They work themselves up to mutiny. Bieler—he wants to be governor." "Why? Why so impatient? Why not wait?" "They'll wait a bit, yet, but this has been long in coming. Perhaps I've lost the touch, getting old as I am. I thought to keep them in line no matter what, but this trek has been so hard and wearying—and Bieler has been at them from the start, almost. He wished to attack on the way, and get the arms back so we'd have the upper hand. But your uncle's men stayed so watchful I spurned his advice. And the few times we all were armed, the Captain orders us to shoot at this or that bear and not reload. Then when we sighted the Arrow, Bieler nagged at me again, saying I should get out my hidden arms during the ruckus, as if we could take and load them without attention from your gunners. No, the man's a fool, and always pushing for hasty action. If the others weren't so brainless they'd see right through him." I said half to myself, "I must be brave." "Don't worry yet, lass, for I've a trick or two left, and they still—most of them—fear me. Fear and respect—those are what hold men in line, especially villains like these. But if worse comes to worst you stand by me, Val, and I'll stand by you... And pray your uncle comes up to the mark." Evening came, and certain of them begged Ralf to cook up a good mess, but he would not, ordering them to make a sort of broth of dried meat and grain. "We'll have at a loper tonight, for they came round last night while you fellows slept on watch." "Why do you not cook?" I whispered. "Surely you could do better." "Nay. Before I played a part to mislead the gentry. But now that we're mostly equals, were I to serve them I'd be lowering myself, and they'd take advantage." During the day the sentinel on the rock, exposed fully to the sun, was changed often —and the last one down, a mere boy hardly two years older than I, took it upon himself to play my knight. Poll they called him, though whether due to his having a name something like Paul or Powell, or another reason, I knew not. He brought me broth in a shallow pan, urging me to eat. "No," said I, "I will not." "Please, Miss—tis bound to do you good. You've had naught last night and today." Send him away, my senses urged, for he was as repulsive to me as the rest. But I had need of friends. "Tis very kind of you, Young Sir, but I take no food this night. Thank you for your goodness." "You must care for yourself—take care for your beauty!" At this—in that outlandish place and under such dangerous circumstances—I laughed, for no-one—not even my father or mother—had ever called me a beauty. This lad, I thought, must have been long absent from female company. Ralff looked on with tolerant amusement, but the others jeered, saying, "Save your work, for she's dead meat," and calling me strumpet and slut among cruder names. Poll threw over his shoulder, "Stow your filthy tongues—she's a lady born." They slanged him thoroughly, but this proved not enough for Bielerfeldt, who leaped up and kicked Poll so hard as he kneeled before me that the boy toppled over with a groan, spilling the dish. "You fool!" Ralff said, and cursed him, while others jumped to their feet for a better view. I looked at poor Poll writhing in pain, then up at Bielerfeldt standing over him in triumph. Twas unwise in the extreme, but the words leaped from my mouth. "You traitor coward, to strike him unawares from behind." He glared at me with a promise of vengeance, while Poll got to his feet and limped away, rubbing tears from his eyes. Ralff glowered at Bielerfeldt. "She has the right of it, Bieler. Twas a low scurvy trick... But enough of these ructions, mates—let's yarn of better matters. How are we to spend our fortunes once back in civilized places?" ~~</p><p>Chapter the 18th ~ The Figure</p><p>Boasting held their attention for a time, one topping another with impractical and outlandish schemes for wasting money and ending poorer than when started, and none giving a thought to saving or bettering himself. But Sandy thought to ask of Ralff, "These here mules are weakening—can they carry all the gold within that great vessel?" "Gold? Bless you for a fool. Who said twas gold?" "Silver, then." "Nay, lads, but something more precious still, and light as feathers. Still, one trip won't do it, and we'll need to both stake our claim and keep it secret, too." The men were puzzled. Not gold? Nor silver either? "Nay, nor jewels neither, but circles." Astonishment! Circles—what were they? "Ah, me—I'm forgetting the proper name, it's been so many years. Tis circuits on the ship. And circuits, boys, are worth their weight in gold or even precious stones, you may be sure. Yes, when I arrived those many years back, this here world had still a few working machines using circuits—but everything had weakened through age, no ship from Home having visited for many a long year. Nor was the Arrow of Time originally intended for this planet. But we took it and drove it here—wanting to be far from pursuit, and in a place sorely needful of what we carried." * * *</p><p>Ralff's father had worked at a port for spaceships on Earth. Not with the ships themselves, for they hung suspended like our moons above the planet, in a vasty airless room, so to speak. Down on the ground the owners and workers arranged for cargo to be taken up to or down from the ships. Ralff's father worked at loading the small spaceboats that leaped from Earth to carry goods—and folk as well—to those above. All round the home planet companies operated thus. A gang of men came to him to make a conspiracy—to gain his cooperation by means of a bribe and threats—for getting from the surface up to a ship many miles overhead. They could not steal it—for so they intended—without allies inside the port. Ralff's father thought for a brief time before agreeing, with but two demands—that he should accompany them as something in the nature of a petty chief officer to rule the general crew, and that his son should be one of their number. The thieves agreed, and up they all flew to the great Arrow of Time, entering through the cargo door. Sneaking in and coming across the crew unawares, they murdered them one by one—all except the navigator, whom they needed. "Murdered, Ralff? True murder?" "Aye, Blinder, for the dead tell no tales." "Nor corpses don't bite," Bielerfeldt added with relish. How unutterably cruel, I thought, and how slightly it seemed to touch them that the lives of innocent men were thoughtlessly taken, and loved ones left to mourn. The home planet seemed ready to fall apart—in governance and trade and wealth— and the peoples of Earth lived restless and fearful of what the future held, with civilization itself seeming to falter. Commerce with colonies had faded away to only those nearby, therefore the pirates could be sure of a ready market for goods that might extend the life of technology in faraway backwards places. Knowing this, the leader picked a world distant enough to require a long journey through the emptiness of ultraspace, and one that had gone many years without contact. Thus they chose our planet, in part through misinformation. For had they known exactly how backwards our world had become, likely they've have settled on another— one still retaining in working form the miraculous machines of Earth. The navigator they threatened with death if he resisted, and promised a share if he cooperated. He chose cooperation but gained death regardless. They made the lengthy voyage here, but instead of taking station in space and using the smaller craft to descend to the surface, they chose to crash the ship, escaping in the spaceboat on the way down. And here the artfulness of Ralff's father came into play, proving him a man full as evil as any who now held me prisoner. He roused the lower members of the crew against their pirate leader, urging that the loot should be shared by fewer. And they would claim to authorities upon landing that they'd abandoned the ship by order of its true captain, who wished to try his hand at a soft landing. To assure their fable went unchallenged, before making off in the boat they slaughtered the chief and two of his loyalists, as well as the navigator. They aimed the great ship at a flat place in the desert north of Redhills Burg, breaking away hundreds of miles before. It went per plan... Except the Arrow of Time crashed not where they schemed, but far beyond—across two ranges of hills and mountains. "Though aged but thirteen Earth years, yet I bulked near as large as any of you. We landed, and I was accepted as one of the crew, albeit a beardless one. Our legend the authorities accepted without demur, and in short order we made ourselves into an expedition to find the Arrow. There we learned many a lesson on the harshness of this new world." To their dismay they found no power cars, those having worn out decades before. They found no powerful weapons to buy, having carried nothing but knives and such with themselves. On the home planet men still flew through the air or over the ground at great speeds, used devices no larger than a quarto volume to speak to one another at unbelievable distances, and took many another marvel in stride. On our world such things no longer existed in working order. The pirates ached with shock and disappointment. "Off we went, nonetheless—traveling much as now with nothing other than plain muskets bought to defend ourselves—and ignorant, aside from what had been hinted at by the folk here, of what we had to face. For we kept our aims secret as possible, thereby robbing ourselves of much worthy advice." They soon found themselves low on food, water, beasts of burden, and comforts. They had too few men, limiting the group to themselves alone—merely a dozen or so. At that time Ralff made his close acquaintance with a mountain bear, one bursting through their ill-guarded camp at night and carrying away a poor soul in its jaws. Between that scare and low supplies, they turned round short of the goal. Next year they tried again, allying themselves with a wealthy citizen who paid the expense, and hiring additional men. They searched deep into the desert where they'd planned to bring down the Arrow, but found no trace. Coming back and re-supplying, they tried again. So it went for much time—years, in fact—with them going deeper and farther afield, but never gaining a sight or clue of the ship. Mountains were climbed as they traced its likely course to east and west, and deserts and plains crossed as they probed farther north—but to no effect. They began to fear Arrow had crashed so forcefully as to break into pieces too small to be sighted, or had flamed like a meteor on entering the atmosphere. Native folk went out as well, having picked up many a hint from the pirates' actions and careless words, leaving Ralff and his comrades to fear others would find the treasure. But all to no avail. The Arrow of Time had vanished from human ken. Ultimately they lost a large part of their interest. The years passed and they began one-by-one to die off, including Ralff's father. Those who still lived settled into occupations, often not the most honorable ones. After near a dozen years spent raising funds and gathering moneyed associates to endow expeditions, Ralff gave up and bought himself a low disreputable tavern with money gained by waylaying travelers. "Yet some never gave it up, joining expeditions to any part of the desert lands, endlessly in hopes of gaining a glimpse of the old Arrow, always hanging on for one more try. And others went looking on their own, as we know of old Abel—ever venturing like a demented pilgrim." Ralff paused for a time, adding to the drama of the moment, holding those cruel and heedless men in the palm of his hand. But not me. Though I had liked and respected the man, and though I now depended on him for my safety and dignity, when it suited his interests he had betrayed me. But far beyond that, his off-hand telling of all this blood and destruction—even to the point of taking more lives in order to set up in business—allowed me to see through the man to his very heart—blackened by treachery and cruelty until there could be no hope of his redemption in this world, nor probably the next either. The scales had fallen from my eyes, as the saying has it, and would never regrow. He started up again, the men hanging on every word. "Youngest by far of those aboard Arrow, I became the single one left of those sturdy men who dared so much and gained so little—every man jack among them dying with disappointment in his heart." "Only you and old Abel—that right, Guv'nor?" "Abel DeGroot? Not a bit of it. That Abel had long ago died, and this one was a mere citizen who took the name to beguile speculators into putting up money. This here Old Abel was not one of us, but a local sneak caught up in the thought of riches, and too stupid to give up the search before a-killing himself. No, not one of us from Earth, this Abel. But his stupidity paid off, didn't it... for us?" At this they let out a shout of joy and laughter that might have frightened off any bears. He had them again. By the power of his words he'd turned them from surly mob into joyous congregation, all convinced only a few more deceptions and murders lay between this desolate abode and lives of luxury and ease. A bit more blood spilled, and twould be clear sailing—never mind desert nor bears nor lions nor the vengeful law, so seldom did they think ahead. "And it's share and share alike, eh, Guv'nor? Equal and aboveboard?" "You may count on it, for no other scheme works out to keep all happy and striving for the good of one another—so tis but practical. And while we're about it, I propose to give a share to this lass, here, for she's now one of us—will she, nil she." How rapidly the mood did change, they being either surprised or hostile to the idea. They kept silent, though, until Bielerfeldt looked around himself and found agreement in some faces. "A fine charitable thing twould be, Guv'nor, but maybe any share of hers should come out of yours, since you seem to appoint yourself her protector." And by protector he offered no compliment, but meant the low sort of man who purveys prostitutes. "Might be you intend to keep the girl for yourself, I'm thinking." But Ralff took the insult in stride, smiling and nodding his head. "Why, I thank you, Bieler, for overlooking my years, and assuming I'm still a frisky devil. True, many a man has gained a fortune by marrying a rich woman—and it might happen again... Yes, indeedy, should she wish to propose, and her uncle willing. But all that aside, you might wish to remind yourself, Master Bielerfeldt, that I'm he who kept a spy on DeGroot and others. And after Abel the Second died, I'm he who added two and two when the Master of Caldridge began to fit out. And I'm he who convinced said Master of his needing my guidance, and wormed from him most all he himself knew. "Further yet, I'm he who got you your place on this here expedition—you and the rest excepting the Ferret. And maybe most to the point—had you not stirred these fellows into ill-timed action, demanding I lead you off immediate-like—we might have waited per my plan until on the way back, with they learning more trust of us, and we more ready to act. And then... Aye, then, Bieler, we'd need no hostage, and this lass might have been awarded by lots, with you yourself being so lucky as to win her. "But no, you must thwart your elected governor, forcing me to rush and come near to spoiling the attempt. I only hope, Master Bielerfeldt, you take a lesson from it." By the power of his words and person he had again persuaded most of them and cowed the rest. But now poor earnest Poll must go and ruin the mood—speaking for the first time since being kicked, and in doing so sealing his fate. "I say we do give her her own share, for she's a bonny brave young lady." The look he got from Bielerfeldt I'll long remember. Yet again Ralff stepped in to ease the situation. "Aye, but we've been feeding and caring for her like her own family, without any return whatsoever. So I propose she try for a loper tonight, by way of paying for her keep. She's a dead shot, we know, for twas her killed the very first one. What say you, Val?" Hope stirred within my breast. "If you wish. Shall you untie me?" He chuckled. "I may be an old fool, lass, but not quite so much a fool as that yet. But we'll shift you, anchor and all, to a likelier place across from the well. And don't you so much as touch that rope, is my advice." * * *</p><p>So I found myself sitting upon a stone and leaning on the low parapet of their feeble bulwark, still and quiet as could be, yet fearing the snores and moans from behind me would afright every antelope within a mile. The sentinels, as usual, had fallen asleep— tired by our late night and the long tale. Ralff chose not to trust the well for bait, as it seemed a distant shot, especially by moonlight. He ordered a rock with a dished top placed nearer, and into this poured water from our store. I hoped the lopers liked its bitter salt taste better than I. The dark hours wore on, yet our bait seemed to fail, for no lopers appeared—an unlucky sign for me, I felt. From the stars I could see it neared dawn, and I thought to let off a shot but claim failure—hoping to be allowed to sleep after. Yet I held on, hesitant to deceive without greater need. And then direct before me, beyond the well, rose a spectral figure. I managed to hold back a scream but aimed my gun at it, only to see it doff its hat in a slow courteous gesture! I sat stunned for a second before placing my own hat on the parapet, reaching up to smooth my hair, then replacing it. The figure flourished his before clapping it back on his head and vanishing. Oh Lord! Rescue at hand. I was now in more danger of screaming than at my first sight of him. What should I do, though—wait or nip over the wall? Did it mean an attack might be imminent? If so, I should lie down to avoid shots from either side. I took out my knife to cut my bonds, and touched it to the rope before hesitating. No, I thought, hold fast! Wiser to follow Ralff's lead and restrain impatience. Await a more definite signal. And wait I did—and wait and wait. I trembled, I sighed, my eyes flicked about, my muscles twitched with the desire for action, sweat ran down my sides despite the cold. But not one thing happened, and all too soon the eastern sky began to brighten. How my spirits wilted! How horrid to be lifted up high then dashed down once more, like a bit of driftwood tossed in a storm—washed upon the beach before being swept back by a greater wave. Tears came. But if my great miracle should be denied, a smaller now appeared. Lopers—no doubt earlier scared away by human presence—skulked into view. They ignored the bait rock—perhaps its water had evaporated—and pawed at the stones shielding the well. I took aim. Barely enough light shone to make out my sights against the tawny hide of one half-facing me. I squeezed the trigger and they all leaped high, landing with legs cocked to leap again. But one fell at the end of its leap. It struggled to rise, took another weak hop and collapsed for good. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 19th ~ Murder Done</p><p>Tumult filled the camp. The lower sentinel fired off his gun in sympathy to mine— at a fading star, no doubt, for he'd been fast asleep. The rest awoke with shouts and questions, and a veritable Babel filled the place. Ralff sorted matters out, calling for quiet and order, and the more sensible among them responded to his commands. The antelope being discovered, I came in for smiles and congratulations. But I soon tired of it, and without breaking my fast lay down to sleep. Not only was I sorely tired but wished to be fresh at nightfall, for rescue must come then. * * *</p><p>I awoke stiff and hot by the rock face, sitting up and knuckling my eyes. Sandy and one called Whitey argued with Ralff—whined at him, rather—questioning why he remained unwilling to attack my uncle's band. "A feast for the bears, that'd be," he told them. "Them shot to pieces, but us too, and no assurance we'd come out the better." "At night," Sandy urged. "Aye, at night," Whitey seconded. "Creep close and surprise em." "You've been yarning with Bieler, so you have. And who've we to compare with those huntsmen—Rothman and them? They're wide awake, and so's Ames." "We'd come from behind, down the mountain. That'd do it, Guv'nor—never see us till we're on top of them." "Who's up on the rock?" "Why... Mueller, I think. I'll call..." "Hold, you fool! I'm making a point here, if you ain't too slow to see it. We've got our lookout—what makes you think they ain't?" This stopped their mouths, but not for long. Whitey chuckled, thinking he'd caught Ralff out. "But where's their rock? They got no lookout point, see?" "You mutton-head! They've got the ship, and that's higher than this here rock— they'd see us coming two mile away." They demurred for a time, perhaps thinking it unsporting or unnatural to use such an exotic aerie. But the thought sunk in, and they switched directions. "Tal and Sansom—they'd help us." "Would they now? Think you—why'd the Captain choose those two to serve the guns, eh? Was it fair looks and fine manners—or to take two good men from us, and keeping an eye on them? Keep your friends close, the saying is, and your enemies closer. They'll be no help, even if they haven't by now gone over to the other side." Whitey persisted. "If we get them word..." "Aye," said Ralff with deep sarcasm, "get me paper and pen—or vellum would likely do—and I'll write a note addressed to Talliver and Sansom only, and private from other eyes. We'll tie it round a stone—then you creep close, Whitey, and sling it amongst them. How's that now?" They still muttered, unwilling to believe that dreams weren't schemes. "Have her write a note." Ralff looked a query at me, but I refused. "I'll not beg the surrender to you—not for anything. Nor would it move the Master." "See, lads... And whose blood shall we use for ink in any case? Twon't do." "Show her to them. Take her along and make her come out with a good scream— that'll fetch them." This was frightening, and they looked too eager for my taste. But Ralff considered, and said, "Too thin a scheme, I'd say. They might act or they might not, since her uncle's so hard-hearted a man. Or perhaps they'd make a sally, and with their better weapons we'd be back to trading lives, and only the bears happier in the long run. Too risky for my taste, nor I'm not over-fond of torturing women." They argued, but he squelched them. "Get away," Ralff told them. "Come again when your brains are fit, but for now get back to building wall." He set the men raising up the wall from either end, and for a few yards it began to rise head-high. But they labored hesitantly under the hot sun, and I supposed he must stand over them to achieve much. I had a need, and waited impatiently for Ralff to finish with his cronies, then caught his eye and nodded to the outside. He untied me from the rock and, taking the rope in his hand, led me to a low portion of the wall, and over it we climbed. "Wait," I cried, as a thought hit me. I could remember little of what had occurred after the antelope, and feared my gun wasn't ready. I ran the rod down the bore and discovered a cartridge in place, but when I checked the stud—no cap. I placed one and lowered the hammer, and off we went. On returning I asked, "Who is missing?" For the party seemed fewer. "Bieler is at parley again, with Poll and the Ferret." "He and Poll! That seems ill-ordered." "No doubt." He was morose and brooding, yet I kept at him until he told me the morning's tale. After breakfast Bielerfeldt had said, Best I go now, Guv'nor, slight worth though it is. Ralff busied himself seeing to the remains of the antelope—planning to dry part of the meat, and readying to burn the offal. Aye, go, he'd said, not bothering to look. "And there was my mistake, lass, for he calls the Ferret to him, and your partisan Poll. Soon after he leaves I look at their retreating backs and realize what's happened. Donal, says I, go along with them, and see there's no trouble. So he does, running after and accompanying them out of sight. But soon he comes back saying, Bieler says I'm not wanted. Whereupon I state, Whose order do you follow? But it's too late to send him off again by his lone." With a sense of foreboding I asked, "Will they fight? What will happen to poor Poll?" "At the least he'll be beaten good, and at the worst you'll lose a messmate." "No!" I cried, but felt it to be true. "Keep your voice down and your lip stiff, for if he's done for Poll he might have set his sights higher. Do you take my meaning?" I took it all too well. Bielerfeldt wished to depose Ralff, so if opportunity presented itself... "You and I, Val, we're for it now. He might go for me if he sees chance leaning his way, or he might wrangle for you in order to divide the crew and get them to rise up for the sake of woman-flesh. As I see it, I must stand by you, and you by me—agreed?" Much as I wished not to involve myself in their disputes, Bielerfeldt had openly showed his enmity, and I knew soft talk from me wouldn't procure a change in him. Should Ralff's protection be removed by whatever means, my life and safety would be forfeit. "It seems I must agree." "Well enough. He'll be back in an hour or two, and we'd best be ready to thwart him." He explained to me his dire scheme, should Poll be missing. "No," I begged. "Don't include me in your wretched quarrels. I'm but a young girl." Never before had I made such a craven excuse. We whispered, of course, and sat close, alone in a corner of the camp, a tall portion of the wall behind us. Ralff rose and strolled to a better vantage point, looking out all round. The other mutineers grouped at the opposite end, every man having now slacked off on gathering rocks. He shuffled back, using his staff more than usual, and sitting again with a grateful sigh. "None can hear us—at least if they lack the ears of owls and cats... I reckon, lass, perhaps I've lost my touch, for men never spoke thus to me in the past. As a younger man I would have driven them like dogs, with none of the arguing and carping I must now endure. Early on the reputation as my father's son sustained me, and later my strength and size, and seeing farther ahead than most. But now..." He grimaced. "And not a one of these fools is worthy of disputing a single word I say." "It's obvious their designs are full of pitfalls. Why won't they listen?" "Forget wisdom, forget love. Respect and fear, Val—and the best is fear when dealing with a parcel of villains like these. They've lost their fear of me, and now bootless wishes overcome what meager sense they were born with. Thinking they know better than me, they bandy words at every turn. Ironic, ain't it, that your uncle employed me to urge these wretches to hire on, and now those hirelings may be the death of me... Yet the fear might serve one more time." "But why burden me?" I moaned. "Needs must, lass. Tis for yourself as well. I will own, though, I have misjudged this whole matter. Perhaps it's age, perhaps pride or my stubbornness—but whatever tis, now we must stick together. Still... If you've a better scheme, speak out. I won't hesitate to hear a gal." I could say nothing, and he stayed silent, both of us grateful that the shade deepened as the sun westered, and a clean breeze carried off the stench of men and animals. He said but one more thing, and in my despairing mood, greatly did it affect me. "Far better, I now see, to renounce the lead-role when they overruled me at the ship. Had I gone to Ames or Doctor Tannahill then, revealing this whole scheme of piracy, you and I'd now be safe, and might be the Master'd have rewarded me for turning my coat." Would that he'd said nothing of it. My tears poured forth again. * * *</p><p>"Someone's coming!" The upper sentinel's call awoke me and Ralff too, I saw, for he shook his head and yawned before calling up, "How many?" A pause. "Two, Guv'nor." "Tell me when you know them." "Aye-aye," called Blinder, keeping up the front of loyalist. In several minutes the call came again. "Looks like Bieler and Rob." Ralff exchanged looks with me. "Where's Poll?" he called. "Dunno, Guv'nor—only the two of em." Ralff looked my way again. "Cover that more," he whispered. I sat with legs outstretched in the corner of the wall—Ralff to my right, and my cap- lock lying on my lap, partially masked by the tails of my shirt to hide the cocked hammer. I looked round to be sure no-one observed before obeying him. Ralff turned to Donalson—lounging near and, like the others, looking toward where those men were coming. "Donal!" he called in a low voice. "Are you standing by me?" Donalson threw a glance over his shoulder, then peered as before, affecting not to have heard. In a few seconds he moved farther off. "There it is," Ralff muttered. "He's the last one I hoped for. We're on our own." I looked into the bright sky and tried to pray. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me... The rest would not come to mind, though I had said this very psalm not ten days gone. My thoughts tumbled over each other, and only one prayer came to mind, the earliest I'd been taught. Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. With the Amen came a shout from one of the men. "Ho, Bieler! What word?" Nothing came from the parley-men until they reached the far bulwark. "Word?"jeered Bielerfeldt. "The word is No several times over, and in variety." They climbed the wall, and he leaned his musket against it before continuing his tirade. "A fool's errand this, as could be seen from the start. They're playing a hard game, and why we ever chose palaver instead of coming down on em like a thunderbolt, I'd like to know." The questions flew and he answered in the same vein, Rob keeping a sulky silence. "No hope?" "None." "What of the girl?" "They don't want her. She's ours to keep and care for, as it seems." A growl went up at this, and many a cruel look came my way. "Where's Poll?" someone asked. "Ask the carrion birds. They shot him down, they did, and he ain't avenged." He looked over at Ralff, then back to his interrogators. "Are we to let this go? No! For I say we attack em tonight—this here very night! Or are we to be shooting at lopers again?" Ralff ignored this sarcasm and impertinence, but at a break in the gabble raised his voice. "Might you be planning to report to your governor this day?" "Guv'nor? Ah, I'm forgetting, boys—the Governor wants my report. You'll excuse me, please." He swaggered over and planted himself before Ralff—leering, feet wide, his right hand resting behind his hip. "Coming to report, sir, that your mission for parley wasn't quite what might be called successful. No, indeed." "They told you, No negotiating?" "Told us No in a manner a deaf man couldn't mistake, nor a blind one neither." And he nodded his chin up at Blinder, earning a laugh from the men behind him. "I'm most afraid, Guv'nor sir, that an election is called for, as the boys have lost willingness to put up with failure. You're too old and too cautious, and too covetous of that chit you keep always aside of you. So how is it, Ralff Jacobsen? Do you give up your guv'norship?" Ralff said, "Where is Poll?" "Dead as dead can be." "Buried?" "No, Guv'nor, for I didn't reckon to put myself up to be shot. But I saved one thing from the jumble." He whipped his hand from behind his back, holding a pistol at full cock pointed straight at Ralff. A slight gasp went up from the men, for all that they'd been expecting it. "You'll agree to that election now, will you, Governor Jacobsen?" "I fear no election, Bieler, but point your pistol... Here!" And he flung his hand to the side. Bielerfeldt—startled by the sudden move—turned head and pistol both toward the outstretched hand, and I lifted my gun and fired, aiming for the thickest part of him. He gave a guttural Whoosh! and the pistol went off, bullet striking the wall. Ralff's staff whipped out and struck the man behind the head, for the plan had been, should matters go in this way, for him to knock the pistol aside, and me to fire after. But I saw my chance and took it. Bielerfeldt crashed onto his face, my ball in his belly, and Ralff leaped up with his own pistol in hand to confront the startled crew. "Well now, lads, it appears we'll need a vote still. So what's it to be—do we finish him off or leave him to die at his own time?" And he barked out a harsh laugh. They shrank back thoroughly cowed while Ralff went on, a wicked grin upon his face. "Anyone wishing to stand for governor? No? I thought not, for Bieler owned the most ambition among you. So, then... Donal? Perhaps you'll be more ready to assist now. And you, Ferret, for I've no doubt you connived in Poll's murder. Did you even call at the ship? Likely not. Well, you two may pick up your messmate and do what you can for him—and if he dies you'll bury him, but if he lives we'll all turn Christian, for twill surely be a miracle. Go! Get on with it, now." ~~</p><p>Chapter the 20th ~ On the Steep</p><p>Bielerfeldt moaned when they picked him up, and moaned again and again after they laid him down on one of the blankets. After a time the moans sharpened into screams, but came less often. With all my heart I wished to sleep, but the agony that man was enduring prevented it. I had not even the will to reload my gun until Ralff prodded me. "Load it up," he said, "for likely you'll need it again soon enough... Would you wish to kill another loper for us?" "No." I shook my feeble head. "Let another try." "Much hope that is," he scoffed. "You might be the best shot among them, and the coolest head for certain." "Can we do nothing for that poor soul?" With his fall, my hate and fear transmuted to sympathy for his pain. Thus do emotions control us against our reason. "He's gut-shot, and will die by corruption, soon or later. Nay, they've chosen to let him pass over on his own, the lily-livered dogs. But tis best for us, for at every cry they're reminded of how unwise twould be to cross me... and you, of course." A tear coursed down my cheek. "Ah, there's no need for that, Val lass. If ever a man deserved killing twas him. If you listen close with your ear on the ground, I doubt not you'll hear the devil dancing in hell at the thought of gaining his evil soul. Only think what Bieler would have done with you, could he have put me down. He's not worth two tears on your sweet face." But such sentiments made me despair the more. * * *</p><p>Those cries and groans continued through the afternoon and into dusk, yet I managed to cat-nap—for one can, it seems, get used to any horror. At one point Ralff sneered at how the men had quickly got used to it as well. True enough, for many of them seemed gay as ever, happier even than when Bielerfeldt had been simply an irritant, before he decided to challenge for leadership. Ralff—always the cynic—laid it to having no decisions to make. For most men, he claimed, preferred the comfort of having few choices. "Some are made to rule, and some to be slaves." "Are there none between, in your view?" "Aye, lass, a-plenty. And it's they who keep the world in turmoil." "And what of you, Ralff Jacobsen?" He chuckled. "Now you've found the chink in my philosophy, for I'm betwixt and between, alright." They opened the well and boiled water, gathering what fuel and forage could be found nearby, though both had got sparse. Only the seeming absence of bears and lions made it possible to range as far as they did, and none wished to go beyond easy sight of camp. At onset of night the fires roared up, and meat and broth were prepared—Ralff ordering Rob to serve us. That man showed his usual sullen mood, and I asked, "Don't you fear him, too, after he helped—or at least stood by—with the slaughter of Poll?" "Nay, for he's one who's mostly slave, yet a tad rebellious and unhappy. It'll be many a time before he crosses either me or you, having seen Bieler go down." Though without appetite I both ate and drank to keep my strength. And afterward, I asked, "Considering all that's happened, could you not untie me?" "Nay." I burst into tears. "How many must I slay before you treat me well?" This I said only partly for effect, for my feelings stayed very tender, and tears ever poised to roll. "Now, lass, none of that," he soothed. "I can't let you go, for you're my only trump, and I must keep you in my sleeve until play is ready. Don't cry—there's a good lass." "Well," said I in a petulant tone, "at least let me change my place." I pointed to the other side of him. "My body aches from these rocks." "Tis as hard here, I assure you. But if you wish..." And he levered himself up to roll and slide my anchor down the wall. I strained at my leash to pull it farther. "More, please, for I wish to see out." Ralff pushed it another yard, and I gained a clear view over the un-raised part. I looked and looked, for surely my rescuers must come tonight, now that the scout had found me. I only feared they would expect me to be across from the well—yet I didn't want to be set up as hunter, for what if an antelope should come early, before the men all slept? If I were to shoot it would rouse the camp, perhaps aborting the rescue, while if I withheld a shot—and someone be awake to see—questions and suspicions might be raised. But clouds flocked thick tonight, and shadows dominated. Good tidings if darkness hid my rescuers, but difficult for me to see them, or them me. I determined to sleep little this night, and be up and peering every minute possible. After a time, Ralff mused, "Odd that as one ages the urge to live grows stronger. You might think it different, for all men wish to live—and an elder has lived his life, so what more is to want? Perhaps it is the memories of youth, and the hope of reliving those lusty years. Have you ever thought on this?" "Nay, not yet." "Certain, for the young are thoughtless and lack care, risking the greatest of gifts. So twas with me in my youth, living by the day for the most part. But now, agéd as I am, and having lived through adventures enough for any man, still I wished to go on trek once more, merely for to spend a few years in luxury before my end. What think you of that, eh?" "I know not, Master Jacobsen." "Only those who have known nothing but failure are willing to die, be they ever so old. Those, and them what has long-continuing pain. Bieler, I think, must be ready to give it up." "Oh! Don't remind me." "It comes to us all, lass—even to you one day." "Why did he... that sound he made?" "You struck him in the bread-basket, as we call it. Drove the air from his lungs, one reason he went down so quick-like. Best hit you could have made, I'm thinking, for a belly shot takes the fight out of a man. Slow to kill, though." Dear God! I lay down with my back to him, and soon Ralff was snoring—and others, too. I could not have slept had I wished to, and in time I stealthily rose and leaned upon the parapet, my gun before me. Nothing could be seen but shifting shadows, and the clouds seemed to thicken. I often started in hope when the corner of my eye seemed to note a form or movement, but always to be disappointed. At one point Ralff awoke, saying sleepily, "How long have you been up, Val?" "Long. I cannot sleep for thinking of poor Poll, and Bielerfeldt, too." "You'll not see them out there." "I look for my home." "Good luck to you, for you won't find it in that direction." "I see it in my mind. Is it more southing?" I turned that way. Soon he slept again, and I napped, too, leaning on the parapet. Behind me, for a wonder, the first sentry stayed awake long enough to rouse the second, but that one sat and slept within minutes. If the rescuers awaited full dormancy, the time had come for them to act. But no-one came. Could they possibly take me for a sentinel? I crouched down to reduce my silhouette. * * *</p><p>I awoke to full darkness, the clouds having closed in. Not one star showed, but I felt it near to dawn. Nothing had occurred, nor could anything be seen. My spirits drooped, but I knew what must be done, for I would no longer live among these criminals, and rather risk my life among the desert rocks and bushes. As Ralff had said, the young are thoughtlessly bold. Grasping the rope at my waist, I sawed through it and laid it silently down, then climbed the wall. A rock slipped as I stepped across, making a noise like thunder in my ears, and in my hurry I scraped my cap-lock across the parapet. I froze still and held my breath, but when no-one seemed to stir, bent over and tiptoed straight away, straining my eyes to see in the dark, barely able to discern one rock from another. I skirted one boulder, planning to slip behind and take my bearings before continuing, and as I... "Good—you made it free." I leaped aside, slipped and clattered to the ground. "God's sake be quiet!" Gardt Wentik! "You!" I gasped. "Shut your stupid maw," he whispered—and grasping my sleeve, pulled me up. "Still have your musket?! How'd you... Never mind—let's be off." * * *</p><p>How long we stumbled across that waste, and in which direction, I know not, but let myself be led from rock to rock and boulder to boulder. At one stop I asked, "Where are the others?" receiving only a snort in return. Dawn broke, but the light diffused through heavy overcast, and we continued for some time creeping from one concealment to another, stopping often for breath before I realized our direction. "This is north." "Aye—of the four cardinal points, this is north." "We must head west! Where are you taking me?" "To the mountain." True, we'd been steadily climbing. "Why?" "Don't attempt to set your judgment counter to mine. Go ahead, and don't lag." "Your judgment? You're but a boy. Where is Rothman, Vonbader?" "At the ship. Where d'you think?" "But why...?" I needn't ask, for the answer was plain. "My uncle." "Yes, your uncle." His voice filled with scorn. "He demands to wait out the mutineers, sure they'll come back to the fold like lost lambs, abashed at their own foolishness." "His money." "Say, rather, his potential wealth. Now you know—he considers you less his heir than one more red-headed brat, of cheap worth next to thousands. The Doctor and Captain argue in vain. I hope this squeezes part of the overweening pride out of you." My pride! Rather than that, I felt cold at heart, barely able to move or breathe. As with my father, so with me. When sacrifice was demanded, my uncle could give up his family but not his gold. I wondered what his choice would be should his own life be at stake? In truth, I knew he might well choose death before spilling his purse. Gardt looked round himself often now that we had light, and after another scan said, "Come along. We need to get into steeper country." I followed like a puppet. Our way became more arduous, the mountain looming above as we switched routes often, searching for the easier path. In time the work sweated me well, and— among other muscles—loosened my tongue. At a rest, I asked, "Why are you here?" He sneered, "How great a dullard you are! Have you not been freed?" "I am most grateful, sir—don't mistake me. But why were you chosen rather than a more experienced man?" "Chosen? I chose myself—we drew no lots among us. There's nothing but gabble back there." He thumbed toward the presumed location of the Arrow. "They could not decide to defy the Master, so I took it upon myself. Chosen indeed!" Ralff is correct, I said to myself. It is the heedless young who are prone to boldness. To Gardt I said, "You are most foolhardy, sir, but very brave. I won't forget this." "Hope, rather, that ravenous beasts forget us both. Now let us climb, for if we get high enough we won't need to fear bears, at least." This was too much to accept. "They are called mountain bears, sir, and surely more height won't dismay them. Better head for the Arrow as swiftly as we may." "I misspoke. Steep, I meant, not high." "Huh! Four legs cannot climb better than two?" "Again, you child, don't lay your judgment counter to mine. They are large, and clumsy on narrow ledges. Two days back one besieged me from below, while I held on to a precipice with toes and fingernails. Right stubborn, he was, holding me there for half the day. But I pitched rocks down at him—or it, for who's to know—until it tired and went looking for less fractious prey. Now will you move along briskly?" Oh, how full of himself, and how boastfully he understated his exploit. But I went without hesitation—for he might be correct, and I preferred hard exercise to becoming a morsel for some beast. * * *</p><p>Reaching the steep slopes Gardt wished, we stopped for noonings in a coign with a patch of flat earth the size of a small parlor. "If only we could retain a picture of this wild view," said I. "If only we had shade enough to cover us." It faced almost south, and our upper bodies, pressed against the west wall, were alone shaded from the sun in a now cloudless sky. Still, the landscape below looked magnificent, if somewhat lacking in color under noontide brightness. "Have you food?" said he. "No—have you?" "No. What of water?" "Yes, thank goodness." And I took a long draft from my bottle, shaking it to check its level. He, oddly enough, left his be, though we had hot work behind us, and before as well. "Have you any water?" I asked. "I'm saving it for later." That is a noble lie, I thought, and handed him mine. He considered, looking at me, then wiped the bottle's mouth with the heel of his hand and took a mouthful, rinsing it well round before swallowing. "Aa-ahh." "Drink again." He took two more sips before handing it back. "We have a goodly ways to go." "There is water only below, I assume?" "I crossed a dry runnel, and when we again come upon it, we might dig." "With what, Master Wentik?" He held up his hands and laughed. "Or flat stones, perhaps. We shall see." "Look at those paws! Why did you wipe the bottle—you could only dirty it more." "I rubbed my face and hands with char before starting out, but lost most of it." "Yet not all." "No, but you are none too clean yourself, lad. I suppose your captors offered no perfumed baths?" We leaned back, happy to rest, and content as anyone could be under those circumstances. "Why did you, disliking me as you do, attempt so dangerous a deed?" He shrugged. "Someone must, and surely every day increased your peril." "There are others who love me more, yet only you did it." "I found it tedious among the mules." "You have high ideals, Gardt Wentik—you must have been well-raised." "I was." "And have a bold independent spirit." "I do." "And a degree of humility rare in any man." He gave me a frown. "True humility lies in acknowledging one's virtues as well as one's faults." "True, and no-one is more ready than you to admit his virtues." "I will escort you back, if you favor the company of mutineers." I accepted this rebuke, and mused, "I had a champion there, too, poor lad. He was murdered for his benevolence." "One less for the hangman." Taken aback, I cried out, "You are too cruel! He was no older than you, and out of place among those scoundrels." "But he was among them—a felon, therefore, and deserving of his fate." "Deserving to die for having assisted me? Never! Had he lived I would have testified in his behalf. How do you even know why he came among them? Perhaps he had been orphaned, raised in a poorhouse among the worst sorts—worked like a slave and denied education or any betterment." "Yet he chose to shelter among criminals, and therefore earned death. Bother me not with foolish sentiments. If no criminal, call him at the least a fool." I jumped to my feet. "For assisting me he was bullied and kicked. And not content with that, his persecutor decoyed him away from the rest, killed him, and blamed it on my uncle's men." "All very well, but he connived at your kidnapping." "You know nothing! You assume, but know nothing." By this time, should they have been attracted by noise, every bear within two miles must be heading toward us. But I was hot with anger, not only because of Wentik's slander of poor Poll, but his insufferable complacent self-righteousness. "What a wretched child you are," he sneered, "with your red-haired temper. Grow up! Gain wisdom before arguing with your elders." I glared down at him and, spinning on my heel, strode to the western lip of the niche. "What are you about?" I transferred my weapon to my left hand, grasped an outcropping rock with my right, and looked where to step next. "Where are you going?" he demanded. "Not with you." I reached down with my left foot but thought better, stepping back and reaching with my right. Before my foot touched, I was grasped by the collar and thrown back, tripping and falling. I held my gun high to avoid damage, and he tore it from me, turning to lean it on the wall out of the way of harm. Here was my chance, and I rolled to my feet and ran at him, driving my shoulder into his back—knocking him against the wall, where he fell to his knees. I reached for my weapon but he kicked backwards, hurting my leg so much I thought it broken. He jumped up and tackled me, bearing me down. "Now you'll learn..." he growled, but I struck his face and stopped his words. He reached to choke me, and I twisted onto my belly, attempting to rise. He threw his body on me, swearing now, kneeling on my legs and attempting to pin my hands. I struggled madly, elbowing and jerking, and he reached under my arms to get the hold called a Nelson. Then his body stiffened, and before I could react he leaped off me. I glanced back and saw his face in shock, his finger pointing. For a moment I feared some animal's arrival under cover of our battle, but all his senses concentrated on me. "You..." he accused. Glory! I rolled onto my back and put my hands behind my head. In a second my anger changed to a sort of glee—I had won! "Me," I replied, with a smile of victory. "You are... How...? Who knows this?" "Who? Let me consider... You, of course, and it took you long enough—my uncle, Doctor Tannahill, Master Rothman." "The Captain?" "No, for he is also slow. Oh! And every single pirate, living or dead... except Spostoe." He stumbled back and sat by the far wall with the sun full in his face—looking at me as if dumbstruck. "So," I said. "And do you now apologize for your slander of poor Poll?" "If you wish... Is his Christian name Poor?" I frowned—was he teasing me? "He is on my conscience—he and one other." "What am I to do with you?" "Do? Why, continue on to the Arrow." "But... it can't be done this day. We'll need to sleep out." I laughed at his simplicity. "If my virtue is not lost beyond redemption after three nights with those swine, it will be little harmed by your presence." He considered this, then came to a decision and rose. "Let us be off. The next stage is difficult—I wish we had a rope to tie us together." Too bad, I thought in ironical fashion, I left mine with Ralff. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 21st ~ Reunion</p><p>We had our private needs to work out but soon learned to ignore one another despite the lack of solitude, and before the day was done we felt at ease with one another. Perhaps I might recommend pre-nuptial wrestling matches to young couples in arranged marriages. The first stage from the coign took near an hour to travel less than a hundred yards, as we must sling our muskets and cling to the cliff-side like bugs on a wall. Afterward it went well enough except for a passage over splintered rock—I think it is called scree— where we must go sideways as crabs on all fours, in continual danger of loose stuff sliding away beneath us. Hours from dark we came across the runnel—deciding to stop and rest, then grub for water before spending the night. I sat while Gardt searched for shovel rocks, and for the best place to dig. We moved up the gully to a patch of sand and gravel, somewhat clear of the larger rocks that littered it high and low. "Are we safe here?" I asked. "From bears? I'm not certain, but it's quite steep." "Lions?" "Those I've had no opportunity to observe." "And if it should rain?" "Let us hope we wake before the flood arrives, otherwise we'll reach the bottom in great haste." We shared a laugh, and he continued, "But it would solve the lack of water—not so?" "Quite true, but one other thing—if we delve and find liquid, how to purify it?" I waved my arm round about. No bushes—nothing but moss, lichens and sparse grass. "Let's consider finishing your bottle and refilling it with the new water. When we find a place with fuel, let the boiling begin." "Very good." We'd been sipping all afternoon, wetting our mouths thoroughly before swallowing, and always shaking the bottle to estimate the reserve. At best half a quart remained. "And one further matter—how do we sleep, unless we grip grass tufts with fingers and toes both? I hope the bears find it as difficult as we." "There, at least, I've had foresight—for as we dig, the sand must come up. If we pile a few stones to keep it from tumbling down, we can form a sort of platform. I fear, though, we ought to keep watch, so one must stay awake." * * *</p><p>We were tired enough that we could not dig forever, though Gardt continued long after I stopped. We molded a small sloping surface on which one could sleep, and as the sun set I lay down while he crammed himself next to one bank, sitting on a small pile of pebbles and rock. "Have you checked your priming?" I asked. He opened his pan, and also inspected the flint. "No spare, I'm afraid—it's one thing I forgot. I must get me a cap-lock like yours." He looked down at me. "Are you hungry?" "I hardly know. I believe I would have to eat in order to remind my stomach." He smiled. "I've taken a good look round—we can feel secure for an hour or so." "Hour follows hour, and soon the night is over." "Did your mother tell you that?" "My father. He was a great one for sayings... What are your parents like?" "Hmm. Well, my mother died when I was quite a young knave, therefore I have but a general impression. My father also died, two years past." "How sad." With a few more questions I led him to tell me his history. No doubt he'd held it within so long that it burst out with the first sympathetic listener. His was a sad story— sadder, perhaps, than mine. After his mother had been buried and mourned, his father wished to remarry, partly for the sake of Gardt and his two young brothers. He set his cap for a widow with children of her own, but she refused on account of his relative poverty, she being wealthy. Postponing thoughts of marriage, he next came up with a scheme in combination with a man of even less wealth, the holder of three or four acres. They set up a business to not simply grow maize but speculate on the crops of their neighbors, storing the grain entrusted to them in a large barn specially built. All this they did on credit—the barn, the corn they contracted for, the wagons and horses that would carry it to market in Brylin many miles to the south. The basis of the scheme was to convey maize in quantities large enough to justify the haulage, always a costly burden for local growers. Further, by holding large amounts they could control the market to an extent, manipulating prices in their own favor. A fine conception, but the profit margins proved small, and when difficulties arose his father's partner turned to drink to soothe a troubled spirit, and to the cash-box to pay for the drink. By the time Gardt's father found the source of leakage and turned the man out, the debts had grown too great to overcome. Rather than be put into servitude for bankruptcy he took his life—leaving a letter for Gardt, begging him to care for his brothers. The three moved in with a cousin for a time, but crowding and Gardt's inability to earn enough by farm labor led him to Redhills Burg, as I have previously told. He sent half my uncle's advance to his cousin, and went off on our treasure hunt. "I'm so sorry for you." "No, for I expected no share of treasure before signing, thus only could come out much better." "If you are not eaten by bears while rescuing kidnapped youths. You should have thought of your brothers before chasing after me." I must have sounded indignant, for he chuckled. "I wish to apologize for calling you carrot." "Why, thank you!" I felt inordinately pleased by this handsome gesture, but what had brought it on? "It was inaccurate, for surely your escutcheon bears a red pepper." I burst into lengthy laughter at this jibe, but had ready a return. Wiping my eyes, I said, "And you, sir, have earned an onion as your crest, for you've caused me tears enough." "I've a sharp tongue and limited patience, tis true—but now sleep, and I will..." And here my recollection ceases, for I must have obeyed him on the instant. I awoke hard some time later, with him pressing his hand to my mouth for silence. I sat, and he bent down to whisper, "I heard something. Is your piece cocked?" Pressing it to my body to muffle the sound, I set the hammer. The sky bore a cloud wrack moving swiftly over bright moons, the shadows whipping by and shifting uneasily. We looked and listened until he at length whispered, "Can you watch now? Good. Wake me in two hours or less." We cautiously traded places, and I scanned and peered until mesmerized by the view. The clouds steadily thinned, and between a greater sense of security and great fatigue I at least twice briefly slept. When I judged two hours to have passed I waited longer, then wakened him by the same method. "All seems well," I whispered, and we again switched places. I next awoke at first light, finding Gardt slumped on his seat. I refrained from awakening him, thanking Heaven nothing had occurred. The sun had almost prepared to reveal itself before he awoke, and his first words were an accusation. "Why'd you leave me cramped here?" Seeing my expression and realizing what must have happened, he changed his tune. "Oh... tis I who've failed—forgive me. Have I slept long?" He stretched and scanned round, and we stood and both searched. The surroundings seemed clear. He reached hopefully into his well, but no dampness showed. "Ready?" he sighed. "A sip first?" He nodded, and we wet our mouths, looking at one another, and without any words he led off down the rill before finding a slight trail that took us westerly upon the mountain face. * * *</p><p>We spent a considerable time clinging to holds and digging in the edges of our feet, moving from outcrop to ledge and ledge to crack, climbing up or down as looked the easiest, and resting often but briefly until we came to a long, broad ledge formed by an out-thrust section of rock. Small particles from uphill had gathered here, forming a thin layer of soil that nourished stunted plants. We rested and took another mouthful of water, hoping the slight remainder would last until we found the Arrow. The day showed haze, and a breeze moderated the sun's heat, yet we sweltered warm enough for baking. I removed shoes and socks, thinking I could wring the sweat from the latter. Though very damp, it couldn't be done, so I laid them on a bush for sun and air to dry. Each bore a hole—one in the heel, the other by the great toe. I resolved to switch feet when resuming them. I wriggled my toes, noticing their bleached look—and I laughed, and Gardt laughed in turn. I leaned back against the mountain, eyes wandering far over the desert, but I noticed Gardt studying the cliff behind us. "What do you see?" I asked. "I look for a quick way up this hillside. Should a bear top that rise two-hundred yards ahead, he'd be on us in seconds." "Have you found any?" I felt too lazy to turn. "To get two or three yards up, yes, but I should want at least eight, I think." "If you bid eight, I'll raise it to ten." "What think you we should do if unable to climb, Val?" "Sell our lives dearly, I suppose." "Thus declaims the red pepper. I suggest we wait until it is close, and aim for its muzzle. In all our animals this is a most tender spot, and perhaps in these mountain bears as well." "And what then—me out with my pistol and you with your cutlass?" "Our only choices, I fear." "A cheery thought, oh Knight of the Wild Onion." "Ready?" "Yes," I said, drawing on my socks. "Let us meet our fate face to face." You may well wonder at my sangfroid during this part of the adventure, as I myself wonder now. I expect it was due to my youth and heedlessness, partly that I had lately come through so many perils with hardly a scratch, and partly my belief that God watched over me. Wentik claimed to be almost as certain of ultimate success, but his was a more reasoned coolness, brought about through watchfulness and careful planning. In other words, a truer bravery. * * *</p><p>We made good time for hours, as the ledge seemed to stretch forever, though it was not dead flat but forced us to tilt uphill, and wishing one leg shorter than the other. It at times trended upward, but more generally downward, and I felt the proximity of safety and repose. Near noon we came to a more abrupt rise, and stopped atop it to rest. Gardt looked thoroughly round, and motioned me to him. He pointed out a slight glint to be seen in a notch ahead. "Can that be it?" "I believe so." Only a few more miles and we should be able to take our ease. "Thank goodness—I'd begun to think ourselves doomed to wander forever. How long, do you think?" "If this runs all the way, perhaps four hours." "You didn't take this route when coming for me?" "No, or it should have saved me time, and possibly avoided one large hairy creature." After resting we went on for a mile or more—Gardt alert as always, and I half alert. He held out an arm to stop me, cupping an ear to listen. I came forward, and he mouthed, Hush! I eased his arm away and crept forward, my weapon in my hands. There! A brownish back came briefly into view. Closer, and I saw it again. Closer yet, and it resolved into something quite strange—a bear, cavorting in a wide cove below us. Gardt joined me in moving still closer, and we spied an odd scene indeed. The bear had somehow trapped an antelope and wounded it, breaking a back leg. It now played as a cat with a mouse—giving the loper an apparent chance for freedom, then catching it again and again, and knocking it spinning with a blow from a paw before backing off and affecting disinterest. The pitiful thing had no realistic hope of escape—injured and bound by rock walls on two sides—but the crafty bear left openings to decoy it into trying, moving off or turning aside until the antelope again reacted to the bait of freedom. We backed away and crept past, my bravado fading to nothing, and I joined Gardt in looking for routes to climb the cliff at our right hand. When the broad ledge began to dwindle, our route became more difficult but our minds eased. The ledge now disappeared in places where we must work our careful way by hand and footholds for a distance, only to have it reappear, allowing us to walk some further yards. At length it ended in a great knob, perhaps the remnant of an ancient landslide. We rested and planned our continuing route. Up or down were the few options, for we refused to consider back-tracking. We both chose up—Gardt because of the holds available, I because I now associated down with bears. Following another parsimonious drink, we began the climb, a mere ten yards but steep enough that it left me with quivering limbs. I collapsed on the rounded top while Gardt searched the horizon once again. "A couple more hours if conditions ahead are no worse." I felt encouraged, but not so much as to rise and look. "Is there a path down?" "More than ever I wish for a rope... We must go farther up from here, it appears, for I see nothing of a downward path." "Ever upward! We must come down some time." "Behind the ship if not before, for that route I took when leaving by dark." He knelt by me. "Rest, and I will leave you here and go for help. You'll keep the water and..." "Never!" I leaped to my feet. "I'm ready to start." He chuckled. "Wait for me, if you please. I want more rest." "Don't speak of leaving me behind—not this close to safety." "Never fear, little red pepper—I'll stay by, if you wish." * * *</p><p>Following a few hours of harder effort than I ever wish to face again, we found ourselves above the Arrow—changed since I'd last seen it, a structure having arisen on its upper side. The first part of the slope ran steep, but nearer the bottom rocks and debris had slid down over the years, half burying the ship. We were, I think, so exhilarated by the prospect of refuge that our concern was less the difficulty of descent than a fear that by hurrying we should lose a hold and tumble. At any rate, down we went by hand and foot, a great Halloo! coming from below as they spied us, but we too busy to even wave an arm. Reaching the filled area we managed to turn, walking and sliding down on our heels, while figures appeared by the rear of the ship, coming to receive us. I steered toward a boulder, and once behind turned to Gardt. He gave me a puzzled frown, and I said, "I wish to kiss you." He stared as though I'd gone mad. "Present your dirty cheek, sir." I pulled his head down while attempting to kiss the cleanest un-whiskered spot. "You are now family to me, for no brother would have done more than you." His features turned a brilliant scarlet, and we exited to greet our welcomers. ~~ Chapter the 22nd ~ Turnabout</p><p>Vonbader met us first, followed by Doctor Tannahill. What joy to see them—friends who had genuinely longed for our—or at least my—return, for Gardt Wentik was no favorite. But his hand was well shaken, and congratulations flowed for his bold behavior. And when I found time to look beyond these familiar faces... Whitey! And under arms. "Why is he here?" I demanded. "What has happened?" I had visions of the pirates capturing the ship. "Ah," the Doctor said, his voice a study in restraint, and his expression disquiet. "They came in yesterday and surrendered. Your uncle has accepted them upon promise of good behavior." "You've armed them?" "Nay, nay," he reassured us, "the Captain's rule still stands. Only those on duty..." Now Gardt, who had been darting glances right and left, bellowed in a voice fit to wake the dead, "Impossible, sir! These are rogues of the blackest hue!" For I had told him much of the doings in Ralff's camp. "Tis the Master," Vonbader broke in. "Tis the Master's doing." We hustled down, the doctor's arm around me as if fearing I could not walk—and the truth not far different, for my knees weakened at the thought of facing the wretches once again. Their faces seemed all around me—Mueller, Becker... Sansom, that potential traitor in our midst. And Ralff Jacobsen. He mouthed a greeting, leering at me in his cozening way. We rounded the corner, and my uncle scaled the wall to clutch me in his arms. "My girl, my girl—I knew we should see you again." He attempted to kiss me, but I drew my head aside and freed myself from his grasp. His face showed dismay as I gave him the semblance of a bow or curtsy, saying, "It is good to see you well, sir." "Valys! Valys, I could not... The time was not right, and I... Sure, they wouldn't harm you—that I knew." His looks begged me to accept his excuses, but a coldness came upon me. "Would they not, sir? It is good to hear of your confidence." The others ringed us about, mesmerized by our extempore drama. "They... They didn't... You aren't...?" "No sir—they did not, and I am not. But that is no thanks to you." "But, but... Jacobsen assured me, eh, assured me no harm... That he'd extended his protection to you, thus all was..." Gardt beside me could barely restrain himself and would burst out, I knew, if an opening presented itself. I hurried to reply. "And did that assurance come before or after surrender? Nay, sir, make no response, for I tell you he is the greatest liar and cheat in Northway, and none but a fool would be taken in by him." Now the storm broke as not only Gardt Wentik but Captain Ames and Doctor Tannahill—with assistance from Vonbader—condemned the policy of lenience toward the mutinous men. My uncle ordered Gardt to silence but was less effectual with the others. Indeed, he did not altogether silence Gardt, who reinforced the Captain on occasion. For my part, I stood aside, watching Whitey and searching for Talliver. Seeing Rothman at the lower swivel, I climbed the wall and walked up to him—and there lazed Talliver and Rob, his loaders. Rob! Of all them the least trustworthy by my reckoning. With no show of concern, I hope, I shifted my musket from where it slung on my shoulder, and held it in my left hand while extending my right to Rothman, smiles splitting both our faces. "Master Rothman!" said I. "Miss Valys!" said he. "For your identity is revealed, I think." "Aye, it is." And in a much lower voice I said, "These men must be disarmed." He looked at me for two or three moments, discerning my seriousness of purpose. "Very well," he said, and turned round with his pistol steady on Talliver, while I cocked and presented to Rob. "Shrug those guns off your shoulders with the greatest of care," said Rothman, "and slowly reach behind to lean them against the bulwark." Their faces became studies in surprise as they obeyed with rigid limbs. Perhaps they saw death before them and knew themselves deserving of it, while a few seconds earlier they'd been secure and no doubt plotting a new mutiny. Rothman nodded his head toward the wall farther down, where a sort of stile had been built for egress, the construction being high enough that it was a chore to climb over. They sidled away, watching us as closely as we watched them. "Over it now, and take yourselves some way out before stopping." They went, and at ten yards he halted them, telling them to stand easy but not even think to stray from the spot. "And now," he said to me, "the problem is the upper gun, for Harkness has one or two with him." But that difficulty resolved itself as we watched. The argument with my uncle won, the Captain, Vonbader and Wentik disarmed Whitey and one other, then marched around the end of the ship to relieve Harkness, a job soon satisfactorily completed. I watched Ralff during much of this as he leaned, wary but unresisting, on the wall near its middle. He bided his time, I suppose, hoping to argue my uncle around when conditions might become riper. "But now, miss," said Rothman, "what am I to do for a loader? Two men at least are required to serve this monster, and I foresee we'll be unable to trust a single one of the crew." "You have me, sir. I count myself as handy as any of them, if you'll but instruct me." He laughed, saying, "Perhaps so, for they came back with a story of you killing the chief villain, and freeing them to return." "So that is their tale! As to the shooting—yes, I have it on my conscience. But as for the freeing of them—they felt free enough to steal off and steal me as well, and free to return at any time. Yes, and free to repress Bielerfeldt by one means or another, but chose not to." "Why then...? "It is Ralff. He's a sly and crafty man, and has but the smallest of consciences. No doubt he saw no other hope, and argued the rest into returning. Be sure that his own safety provided the motive, and no other." He gave me a drink, to my great joy—and we chatted while keeping a sharp eye within and without. By and by others of the mutineers joined our two, including Sansom. Many a wail and much muttering could be heard, for they feared to cluster in the open without protection. Soon, though, shovels were handed out, and Captain Ames ordered them to dig a shallow pit for their protection, ringing it with soil and stones for a bulwark. There they would lie at night, dependent upon the swivels and our muskets for keeping off beasts. Now Gardt appeared, bearing a bowl. "Food for me?" I asked, highly elated. "No, for me. But I relieve you to go eat and wash and sleep, and I shall be Master Rothman's assistant from now on, I reckon." "And what of me?" "Simply go, or be certain I shall call you carrot. Go into the ship." * * *</p><p>I went, threading my way past the mules, their numbers enhanced with those returned by the mutineers. I crawled in the sideways entrance with the door latched above like an awning, and through another doorway adjacent to find myself in a world of shining metal, and to be once more greeted by Doctor Tannahill. "So, young lady, you are returned to your true self. All is well within our small universe, since you've been a catalyst for reform, as it were. And this shining cave is now our stronghold, while the outer rocky wall forms but a paddock for our noble beasts." "Please, Doctor, if I may wash and eat I'll ask for nothing more." "Easier done than said, almost, in our rather topsy-turvy sideways domicile. But first let me show you a wonder." We worked our way across a horizontal ladder and through a hatch leading to another compartment, and there lounged Joslin, taking his ease with a great stiff bandage round his neck. I clung to him and watered him with tears, and I've no doubt he shed one or two himself. He could speak in nothing but a low rasping whisper, quite difficult to comprehend. "Silence now, Joslin, and I'll narrate... Here, Miss Valys, you behold the luckiest man within a hundred miles—for he took a ball through the neck that failed to destroy a major artery or vein, nor touched his spine, nor cut his windpipe—merely bruising the voice-box as it passed. I must add, of course, that he received care from a fine surgeon and a remarkable physician, both of whom are among present company." He referred jocularly to himself, of course. The doctor led to a nook curtained off by a tarpaulin, and gave me two pans of water and rags for washing and drying, with my pack restored to me so as to change small-clothes and stockings. I must point out that a wonderful kind of cool lights, still workable after the many decades, kept the ship's interior bright. In kindling these, as in much else concerning the Arrow, Ralff Jacobsen was guide and tutor, his memory remarkably sharp for one who'd been but a lad back then. Gloriously clean, I received food, but fell asleep during the first course. Just as well, for my stomach had so shrunken I might have become sick had I eaten more. Twas light before I woke, having slept through night and half a day. * * *</p><p>After eating again and taking care of other needs, I commenced a tour of my temporary home, but barely started when a storm blew in from the south, drawing me to the doorway to observe it. Nothing like this had occurred on our journey yet, as lightning and thunder competed in violence with the rain. The sky, in the phrase of certain oldsters, rained spades and hayforks. The ship drummed, our erstwhile camp became a pond, and rivulets coursed past in full freshet. The mules huddled in misery next to the ship wall, and our poor prisoners huddled more miserably under soaked blankets. In time the Master ordered them supplied with a couple tents and tarpaulins, little reducing their wails and complaints. The gun positions managed in somewhat better state, having cover overhead from jury-rigged awnings—but plenty of moisture blew in upon them. The rest of us except Joslin went out to catch the rain in tarps and fill every container, including my uncle's beer cask. Even the prisoners, under Ralff's hectoring, caught some moisture for their bottles. Afterward we huddled steaming in the ship, watching nature's display—so much more amazing in the bare desert than in any sheltered spot. It lasted hours before ceasing with a few spits, leaving a thinning overcast that blew away before dark. Doctor Tannahill said, "Let me act the seer for a moment, and claim this as the first sign of the cold season, and others soon to follow." "Certainly not this early, Doctor," my uncle protested. "Ah, sir, we have spent a good deal of time on this quest, and it's well past midway to the equinox. Tis early, I agree, but best we be ready for another." "What is proven," quoth the Captain, "is we must hurry our return, and take light loads so as to be swift." This reopened a conflict with my uncle, who desired to make away with as much as possible, his love of wealth again to the fore. But he lost the argument. I next made up more lost sleep, staying abed for many hours. The morning saw Ralff Jacobsen in his element, explaining with much hyperbole the working of the ship, and displaying what he remembered of its stores. Circuits proved to be strange tiny devices, often housed in a flexible clear covering that Doctor Tannahill claimed to be similar in properties to a mix of mucilage and water-glass, though most likely composed of a substance quite different. A great deal of pasteboard also protected them, gaudily printed with words, and with pictures and symbols we could rarely interpret. Never a sack, chest or cask was to be seen, but only squarish pasteboard boxes and the clear substance. The circuits themselves varied, but some looked like black beetle-bugs with golden legs. Additional to circuits were what Ralff called motors, but I name engines. These consisted of small and not-so-small cylindrical and rectangular solids that, with a proper form of impulse-power, could spin a shaft at high speed. They looked weak in our eyes, but he claimed great things for them. There were screws with unusual nuts around them, and cylindrical devices with rods that shot out by impulse of water or air. Twas mostly a mystery to me how this came about, but Ralf claimed that certain pumps—also aboard—would drive them. I know not how far he exaggerated. And many other things I made small note of filled the holds of this wonder-ship, including simple devices like pulleys and driving belts, most daintily made. More things drew my attention. For one, in a compartment kept freezing cold by the undying power of the ship, were miracle medicines—so Ralff claimed. The doctor pointed out the general futility of using them in our state of knowledge. "For many a nostrum, while effective at the proper dosage, becomes poison in larger amounts." He gave arsenic as an example. "A medicine improperly applied does no good and might do harm. You would not use a salve for eye-soreness to treat foot- soreness, nor vice versa." Ralff was clearly chagrined, but the doctor's logic could not be gainsaid, and the medicines remained entombed in their icy prison. Of more use were preserved foods, still maintaining nourishment within flimsy metallic wraps. After sampling and assuring ourselves of their palatability, the Captain ordered them saved for emergency rations. The making up of loads commenced, taking full three days, for we would not allow the prisoners to assist except by one or two at a time so as to be easily watched. Our diet now contained no starch or grain, only some spices left unconsumed. Meals consisted of antelope steaks, followed by antelope chops, rashers, hash and stew, the latter containing nothing by way of amelioration other than a few blades of grass or leaves, and an occasional fine-chopped root grubbed from a certain plant Ralff swore edible. It was not tasty, and in any case we tested it thoroughly on him before sampling it ourselves. My uncle argued that Ralff be cook again, but a vote decided we would not risk poisoning or drugging—and rule by committee was thereby firmly established. We took turns as cook and helper, the latter office usually falling to me. * * *</p><p>Off we went, the would-be pirates marching a ways apart to side or rear, and having only knives and cutlasses to defend themselves by day, and a few tents for cover by night as they huddled in their separate camp, the swivels overlooking them. The bear problem seemed much diminished by our efforts or whatever reason. Rothman and Harkness had thinned their number by one while Gardt and I were engaged in escaping the mutineers—baiting it with a weak mule, and shooting it before its attack came. Off it ran, never to appear again. To further advance safety during our return trek, the Caldridge men proposed to shoot any bear or lion that came near, even if the range seemed overlong—for we had no shortage of ammunition. With the Captain's approval they put their scheme into commission, often disturbing us at night or during halts. They intended extermination. Though such could not succeed, they struck or frighted more than a few, and certainly we had no close sightings after the first few days, except for one incident I will relate in its time. Coming to Abel DeGroot's beacon or reflector, we took it down so as to offer no clue to any trespassers on our claim, taking it with us. The doctor opined we might warp it in such fashion as to concentrate the sun's rays, thereby heating our food or boiling water. But this experiment we never tried, for we seemed always busy with more ordinary matters. ~~</p><p>Chapter the 23rd ~ Homeward</p><p>Coming to the oilnut wood on our reverse trek, we determined to try the expedient recommended by Doctor Tannahill—the use of oilpig meat to vary our diet and stretch our stores. We soon enough found only a starving man would eat such, no matter the mode of preparation. It was consigned to the mutineers. As might be expected, they liked it no more than we, and it was necessary to hint that no food would be issued except for oilpig and what they could grub from the earth or pluck from bushes. In one day this so altered their preferences that they volunteered to hunt the beasts—urged on by Ralff Jacobsen, who promised by use of his spices to make any dish palatable. Thus far only a few had been shot by Vonbader or me, but now two of the prisoners wished to try their skill, and were issued muskets with two charges each. They hid in the edge of the wood before dusk, while a protective party went farther in, placing itself in a decline sheltered from any wild shots. The plan gave them until dark to hunt, then all would gather together and return to camp. And here I should mention that in addition to our muskets we had armed ourselves with flashes taken from the Arrow. These consisted of a small tube, that upon a knob being pressed shone a brilliant clear bluish light from several glassy eyes. Flash for a name was appropriate, for it would suddenly blaze out in the dark not unlike a flash of lightning—wonderfully convenient on nights so dark as this promised to be. The hunters sat upon a knoll waiting for oilpigs to show themselves, and we— Gardt Wentik, Harkness, Doctor Tannahill and myself—sat facing into the forest on the far side of the knoll, hiding behind the boles—listening and looking with our full might. Some time passed without any occurrence. But as darkness closed in a gun sounded on the other side, a possible signal of success. Directly after, Harkness for some reason thumbed his flash, displaying to our startled eyes a bear not fifty yards away on the next knoll. He coolly said, "Take aim... Fire!" We had earlier agreed to his leadership, and also discussed and accepted Gardt Wentik's notion of aiming at the muzzle should a beast appear. Whether due to that or the effect of the brilliant light on its eyes or any quite different reason, our shots rang out together and the beast veered to the side and ran away. We immediately decamped while the powder smoke masked us, all of us now waving our lit flashes in every direction, muskets slung and pistols in our right hands, shouting to the two hunters to gangway lest we trample them. This would prove to be our last close encounter with a mountain bear, though a few distant shots were later taken by the great guns. * * *</p><p>Our path now led generally downward—somewhat preferable to climbing where the hillsides sloped gently, but full difficult where steep. To our great pleasure, and even more to that of the mules, vegetation began to sprout anew within a few days of the great rainstorm. A week more brought blooms, many from plants the doctor claimed originated on old Earth. I felt I could love desert lands were they always so colorful as this, but these proved ephemeral, beginning to fade before we left the once again arid land. One of the mutineers—I no longer recall his name—sickened within days of the oilpig feasts. With the rest, of course, attributing it to the wild meat. The doctor could do nothing but ease his passage to the next world. We carried him on a mule for two days, until he became so low we stopped to allow him to perish in peace. This time the Captain's wishes held sway, and the grave dug so deep and narrow no bear could ever disturb his mortal remains. None other showed disease, and the mutineers soon laid his demise to an undetected serpent bite—again without proof. During this time we passed the spiny grass trees and harvested a few for the core, chopping the fibrous stuff fine to add to the eternal antelope. Naught but variation in texture came of it, though welcomed by those whose digestive organs needed more to work upon than lean meat. Antelopes became scarce with the growth of greenery. Probably, the doctor stated, they no longer yearned for water since lush vegetation provided much of their needs, and puddles had for awhile abounded following the heavy rain. Also possibly, Harkness maintained, we had decimated their numbers by our greed for meat. The preserved food from the Arrow now sustained us for a time, and at one point a swivel gun, loaded with musket balls, was discharged at a distant loper herd, wounding one we retrieved. No other method of hunting them could succeed, for they were shy and fleet, and we unwilling to spend the time to lie in wait for them to pass nearby. On short rations supplemented by grass and other indigestibles, we stretched our legs to their limits in a race for settled lands. How Ralff Jacobsen with his staff contrived to stay abreast I could not imagine. What must he have been when young and hale? The last resort would have been to sacrifice our mules one by one, but as this would have meant caching treasure, no-one wished it—least of all the covetous leader of our expedition. With our bellies sagging against our backbones we at last sighted the tall trees that indicated home was near. Soon down Cardan's path we swiftly strode, those people racing before us to their fortress without interference beyond a glance on our part. To the west road, then up the short path to my home, and we dropped exhausted on the turf behind the blockhouse. My mother and her people brought food and drink, and what joyousness we on either side expressed. She and I embraced again and again, my small brother playing at high-jinks but shy of me, so changed was I—shaggy and reddened by wind and sun, and such a long period having passed. But another task intervened to limit the time for rejoicing and reminiscing. My mother's men joined ours in holding the mutineers at gunpoint while hurriedly-forged shackles and chains joined them wrist to wrist, with many a weight for them to drag or carry lest they attempt to run in concert. My uncle said he hated to see men treated so, but knew the necessity now that they could hope to escape and survive in softer lands. Ralff beckoned me for one last word, still cozening in the hope of bettering his lot. "Ah, lass, I'm sorry that we be parting, with you like a good-luck piece to me. I know you must despise me now—but someday, I hope and trust, you'll feel warmer toward old Ralff, who always did his best to aid you when circumstance allowed." I hardly knew what to say or whether to ignore his speech, but at last replied, "Thank you for your many kindnesses, sir, and I simply hope you receive in life that which you richly deserve." This stymied him, and he spoke no more to me. We slept out one more night—all except Uncle and the doctor and myself, being invited in to enjoy linen and mattresses. My mother's ears filled to overflowing with our tales, but only for a short space, as we yearned too eagerly for bed to burn many candles. Home—what a glorious place! * * *</p><p>Next morn my uncle convened a meeting prior to taking his leave. He made an oration—fortunately not over-long—relating the hardships and dangers overcome, our good behavior under difficult circumstances, the boldness of certain parties, and his unwavering determination to succeed—without which our goal would never have been achieved. He was dutifully applauded before getting to the meat of the matter. "And now, eh... Now the division of those goods we have so... Well, to get on with it, here is my, er, disposition of them. That is, of the money we shall gain from sending them to market or auction, and so forth. "As for the miscreants, no bonus, of course. I shall take them to the authorities in Redhills Burg but not charge them, for it would be the necks of them all if they should be, eh... be brought to law. Yes. Perhaps I'm too merciful, but... Nonetheless I'll give them a portion of their wages—possibly half, since we reached the Arrow before they, er, deserted. I shall request the magistrates to place them under parole, and as a condition they must never again enter the wilderness." "And I say to you, Jacobsen and all..." He looked their way and raised his voice. "that my intention is to return to the Arrow with strong parties as often as needed to empty it. But should I find any of you near, your lives will be forfeit by summary judgment. "Now," he addressed us again, "that should be that. Well, every man here shall receive a share of our takings... But you, Wentik, for the rescue of my niece— overlooking your having disobeyed orders—you shall have two shares. Doctor Tannahill and Captain Ames, in, er, recognition of their valuable services shall have three shares each. So. My niece must be rewarded for carrying the map and, eh, various other matters, so shall have five shares." By other matters he meant, I presumed, the spy-work and perhaps the shooting of Bielerfeldt. It did not please me to be taking blood-money, but I raised no objection. Then, too, he may have hoped to salve his conscience for abandoning me to the mutineers' mercy. "Now for myself, in consideration of my forming and organizing the expedition— and the leading of it, and taking all the expense upon my own shoulders, shall have the balance. That is to say, the equal part, or seventeen shares. Very well then, let us be up and..." In the midst of dead silence Doctor Tannahill interrupted him. "Master! Hold please. I, ah... I think it wise that we..." But Gardt Wentik interrupted the doctor in turn. Stepping forward, in a voice louder than usual he proclaimed, "For myself, I renounce the additional share, as my services surely proved no more important than those of your hunters and marksmen, nor indeed of your man who took a wound in defense of Valys—Miss Clercal. So I refuse it." The audience stirred in sympathy. "Beyond that, I must object to the injustice of her—Miss Clercal—receiving such a paltry sum." "Here now!" my uncle bawled, incensed that a low hireling should dispute with him. Well enough if Gardt should give up money—but that he should demand more, even for another, was untenable. "Perhaps you have hopes in that direction, you scamp, taking advantage of her years—but I shall never agree to you having her. Now what do you say?" Gardt's mouth fell open at this accusation, probably as far from his mind as traveling to a moon. "False, sir! That is false." "Yes, you deny, of course. Say no more—I'll not hear it." But all—albeit silently—seemed to agree with Gardt. The Captain was a follower of discipline and could not bring himself, I imagine, to make a sort of bloodless mutiny against the man who'd hired him, but his discomfort showed plain. As for Rothman and the others—raised up in service to the house of Clercal—inconceivable they would do more than mutter and shuffle their feet, but mutter and shuffle they did. For myself, I would not claim a larger share out of shame of putting myself forward. I was displeased with my uncle's greed, but felt an insufficiency of the sort of righteous anger that had loosened my tongue upon seeing the mutineers forgiven. My mother, though, was never a delicate bloom unwilling to bear the wintry blasts of a man's anger. "Brekon," she called out. "I'll not accept your division, nor your usurping my rights as to my daughter." The Master of Caldridge swelled himself up for a thunderous response— determined, I have no doubt, not to have his pockets picked of the riches he had so long dreamed of—but the Doctor prevented him. He stepped before my uncle and said, "Old friend, you must recognize facts, and not let inordinate greed rule you—your wishes must give way." Turning round, he addressed us. "We shall again constitute a committee, and determine shares by vote. Do any disagree?" So it came to be that the Caldridge men and Gardt were allotted one share each, the Doctor and the Captain two each, my uncle and I three each—and to my mother for her sacrifices, two shares also. Each share became more generous, being a seventeenth of the whole, whereas before each was but a thirty-fourth. We held that my uncle would be well recompensed by his future expeditions, when he could then take his half, presuming he could find men willing to encounter the dangers and hardships for lesser amounts. * * *</p><p>The procession wound away, taking everyone but me and Gardt Wentik, with whom my uncle wanted nothing more to do. The three of us strolled toward our home, where Mother had promised him room and board for a day or two. I owed much to him for his chivalry toward me, and wished to generously repay— but I knew her temperament, therefore did not say, Mother, this is the man who saved my life, and I wish you to... For then she would have been suspicious of my judgment, and sent him off with a reward. Generous enough, perhaps, but not the conclusion I wished. Instead I said, "Mother—this man, though young, was among the best on the trek in judgment and coolness. As we have need of an overseer, I believe you should consider employing him." She stopped and turned to him, looking him severely up and down before demanding, "And what do you know, sir, of the supervision of an estate such as this?" My ill-timed humor almost brought matters to ruin, for I spoke in jest before he could compose his answer. "At least, Mother, we can expect to tell him nothing of oilnuts, for his knowledge is such that he might have been born clutching one in his hands." Her eyebrows rose nearly to touch her bonnet, while he reddened and gave me an acid look. "She teases, of course, Madam. I know something of the oilnut, for we used them on my father's holding. But as to commerce in them, I have much to learn, but am willing to apply myself." She stared at him before stating, "Well said, young man... As for you, Valys, you will kindly keep your tongue between your teeth while I speak with Master Wentik." She linked her arm with his, resuming their walk to the house. "We'll discuss this, sir, and if you are willing, have a trial period to see how you do. Should either of us decide negatively, I'll give you a paid errand to Redhills, and we'll part as friends. But if matters go well... And there is a minor fracas with this neighbor of ours, in which a bold man might be of assistance." ~~</p><p>Chapter the 24th ~ Loose Ends</p><p>The tale of my adventure is done, and it only remains to tidy up. The mutineers and would-be pirates went on to Redhills where they gained freedom, but with magistrates keeping a wary eye on them. We never saw them again, nor heard of many—perhaps most removed to places less familiar with them. I know the histories of but a few. Rob the Ferret was implicated in a house-breaking but escaped before being arrested, probably heading south toward Brylin. Donalson—among the better of those rash and heedless men—settled down to an honest occupation as hostler for an inn. Sansom supported himself by petty fraud for a time, and by running errands for small coins, but eventually drank himself to death and ended in a gutter. Ralff perished within two years. Though of goodly age, as he lived by violence so did he die. Attempting to halt a brawl in his tavern he received a slight stab in the belly. Disdaining to ask aid for so minor a wound, he waited until it mortified before putting himself in the hands of a surgeon—too late to be saved. Ironic to think that the wonder-medicines aboard the Arrow might have cured his wound had we understood their use. From a certain point of view this was a great loss. Bad though he had been, many mourned his passing, and a subscription was got up for a monument on his grave. In a final irony, the man who held the funds embezzled them, and Ralff's resting spot is marked by a rickety wooden cross, a questionable symbol for so great a sinner. He could have been a prominent man had he pursued righteousness, for his gifts of persuasion and leadership were notable. But the strait and arduous path was never his choice. Still, in some strange way I too mourned him, having long lost much of my hate. One thing I came to know after my adventure had run through my mind in many reviews—all men, and women too, have a share of good and evil. In such as Bielerfeldt the evil far predominates, but in Ralff somewhat less—while in my uncle, for instance, the good overbalanced the evil. Him, too, I have long forgiven. He died not much behind Ralff, but of ordinary disease and perhaps disappointment. He made only two more trips to the Arrow, taking none but his own men for secrecy—thereby neglecting his holding, and losing one season's income due to scarce crops. It turned out the few goods that sold well were toys such as the flashes and igniters. I call them toys, for they regain their power by being set in the sunlight, and when most needed during seasons of dark and cold the sun rarely shines or is dim. The circuits, motors, and other potentially advantageous devices are too advanced for use at present. One day knowledge gained by scientists and craftsmen might unlock their secrets, but for now they are mere curiosities and a drug on the market. Adding insult to injury, the government of Northway decreed the ship sovereign property, with only a small compensation given to its finder—a result certainly hatched by political enemies of my uncle. The Arrow of Time now sits locked shut—its internal power unceasing, its strong hull proof against illegal entry. Doctor Tannahill took up his practice once again, and made his desert threat true by marrying his housekeeper, a neat and wise woman who had for many years looked after him. He perfected his sun-cooker, as he called it—using silver-plated copper for the reflector, and selling many to desert trekkers. My uncle soon renewed friendship with him, missing companionship too much to retain a grudge—but the doctor having a woman reigning in his house meant all their meetings must take place at Caldridge. Captain Ames made his reputation on our famous expedition, his first independent command. His is always the name initially mentioned when a guide leader is wanted, and commands a goodly fee. Thrice he has led treks to look at the Arrow, and has been a welcome visitor at Wilderedge each time. The expeditions go and look, and perhaps kill a mountain bear or two, but return without entering the ship. They don't enter because a means of locking the entrance had been found, and the government jealously guards the secret of its unlocking. I only hope when the day arrives that those goods are of use, the slip of paper on which the instructions are written may not be lost. Rothman, Vonbader and Harkness stayed with my uncle, though living somewhat easier from the modest income of their shares, and now in later years train up my brother in his duties as head of the family and Master of Caldridge. He is so young that I wonder my mother has not gone with him to Caldridge, but after his reaching age ten she visits him but once or twice a year, while he regularly returns here on his birth anniversary and Christmas. Joslin chose to add his gain to money previously saved, using it to buy a partnership in a haberdashery, thereby practicing a trade for which he is well suited. We take our custom to him without fail. Cardan House no longer plagues us. As my mother foresaw, Gardt assisted in their reduction, but through guile rather than force. Showing a subtlety I would not have dreamed he possessed, Gardt hinted to an associate of the young Cardan—a man in his dead father's mold—that he was susceptible to treachery, and dissatisfied with his position at Wilderedge. During secret meetings with Cardan he agreed to obtain a deed to the rest of our oilnut plantation— signed by my mother, her wits now supposedly addled by age. So well did he play his part that he induced Cardan to enter unattended into one of our barns for the final act, while witnesses observed from hiding. Gardt exchanged the deed for a weighty sack, whereupon court officers stepped forth to arrest Cardan and take him to Redhills for examination and trial. His prison stay was brief, but he paid a crushing fine. The revulsion over his conviction led to a brief tipping of the political balance in Parley to our favor. By a special bill and payment of reasonable bribes to a few officials, we regained the land earlier stolen. * * *</p><p>I have never returned to the wilderness but often dream of its weird beauty and dangers. One day I will journey there again, perhaps, and see those glorious signs of returning life that followed the storm. When I do, I'll say another prayer for Poll, whose memory yet comes to me at odd times. The others who died there never touch me now—not even Bielerfeldt, though I felt a twinge of conscience upon resurrecting his memory for purposes of this writing. But Spostoe and that other man are mere wisps. I think now and then of all the sights—the vast plains, rocky fields unending, the strange plants and fearsome beasts, the mountains capped with eternal snows. And I think of the man who called himself Abel DeGroot, searching for decades with little but a hope of riches for sustenance—finally crossing those mountains and looking down to see something glinting far below. Like the Holy Grail it must have gleamed to his eyes—and how he must have rushed down at the risk of life and limb, only to find he couldn't enter. And then to find a loose piece of that rustproof metal and set it up as a beacon to guide his return—for this must have been his hope—with tools or assistance to gain entrance to the fabled hoard. How he survived in that desolate place—how he avoided the deadly creatures before whom he was defenseless, I cannot imagine. Perhaps he'd been armed at one time, ultimately to expend his ammunition and abandon the musket when its weight became too much for his weakened frame. But still he struggled on. What hopes he surely had when I happened upon him and he found shelter with us. No wonder he died hard, realizing at last that his fierce spirit could drive his worn body no longer, and that his quest would not be completed. It must have been the height of bitter irony to him. * * * My mother has long retired but manages the house for us. Gardt Wentik and I oversee Wilderedge in all respects outside my mother's domain. And though we obtained far less than expected from our shares of the Arrow's treasure, the holding has prospered under our labor and good management—in part due to better transportation on the improved west road, at long last completed after several years. I know my father, Heston Clercal, sees and approves from Heaven, and is our advocate to the angels. I hold that my Gardt should stand for Parley but he puts it off from year to year, pleading the press of work here. I would stand myself were women allowed to vote and hold office, for I see the need of many improvements in the way we are governed. But that is as it is. Indeed, my hours are full enough without delving into politics, though that will ease with the completion of this tale. And I have other important occupations, three of which play round my knees even now—of whom at least one, I predict, will in future display her own head of golden hair.</p><p>{End}</p><p>~</p><p>Plus an excerpt from... Lovejoy's World</p><p>A boom echoed off the rocks, followed by a howl. Wally and Keira jumped up and stared at each other. "Wes!" she said. Wally swallowed once, then found his nerve. "Stay here!" He started up the trail, rifle at the ready—instinctively crouching. And as he ran his brain reminded him: It wasn't supposed to be this way—not this frightening way. Keira hesitated, then pulled out her blaster and ran after him. They rounded the rocky shoulder and watched Morozov plunge down the hillside to stumble and roll sprawling into the middle of the trail—hands to his face, moaning in evident pain. Above him Schultz followed, hurrying but under control. "What's going on?" Wally yelled. "Where's Wes?" Keira added. Schultz jumped the last meter. "Run off… after he shot Moro." "You're lying!" Keira screamed. "Where is he?" She punctuated her words with thrusts of the blaster. "Jebus, lady! Put that away fore ya hurt someone." "Where is he?" She pointed the weapon at Schultz' head. He crouched and twisted sideways. "I tole ya—he run off." "He wouldn't!" Wally joined in, everyone screaming at each other. Morozov stayed on the ground, moaning and crying. In time Schultz got them to listen. He stuck to his story, yanking Morozov's hands away so they could see his face. The man's left eye was closed and puffy, the skin of cheek and temple unbroken but ugly red and speckled black. "Davies seen them ponies, an he says, That's it fer me, and off he goes. An' poor Moro tries to stop him but most gits his head blowed off." The two began half to believe, unlikely as they found the tale. Wally demanded to see the scene, and started behind Schultz up the hillside, while Keira—taking mercy on Morozov—grabbed the medical kit. * * *</p><p>She gazed uphill to see Wally and Schultz winding between trees and undergrowth, their voices filtering down. Wally's sounded sharp and complaining, but she could make out no words. In a few minutes they descended, and she followed Wally back to the outcrop. He had a harried look. "What'd you see?" He shook his head. "I'm no tracker—couldn't make anything out. No struggle, at least—nothing particularly torn up." "But…" "His prints went off to the west, that's all I know." Keira's eyes flicked toward Schultz. "I won't believe he'd abandon us—not him." "I know, but what can we do?" They struggled with the question, not wanting to believe their guide had been false but unable to find a hole in the felons' story. Here they were—two young people with little experience in life and no understanding of the culture into which they had plunged, never before having dealt with true villains. And now on their own. The idea of turning back didn't come up for discussion, while the thought of continuing alone overwhelmed their courage. Eventually Wally called out to Schultz, "Do you know the trail ahead?" The appropriate lie came easily to Shiv's lips. "Sure, I bin here afore." Shiv had only to lead them on for another day or so. He didn't plan to draw out the conclusion much longer. ~</p><p>Feel free to comment or criticize, or post a review. Inform me of possible typos or other errors in Hair of Gold. For excerpts and free content, including works in various stages of completion, visit my website. And remember: No superheroes nor anything supernatural. Merely ordinary people, much like you and me, caught up in extraordinary circumstances. Dai Alanye</p>