The Stones of Nomuru

IV – THE CAGE

Salazar awoke before dawn, stretching cramped muscles. Looking around the cage, he saw Pokrovskii snoring peacefully, while the others began to stir. A young Kook with a musket stood guard outside the gate.

Sudden motion at the other end of the coop caught Salazar's eye. What looked like a heap of rags sat up. In the growing light, a craggy, middle-aged Terran face appeared. A pair of pale eyes locked on Salazar's, and a thin-lipped mouth uttered:

"Hvem er De? Who are you?"

"Keith Salazar, from the university." When Travers shook Pokrovskii's shoulder, the Suvarovian looked up; and Salazar completed introductions, adding: "Aren't you the Reverend Hjalmar Ragnarsen, who recently disappeared?"

"I am that miserable sinner. I know who you are. Why are you people here?"

Salazar summarized the hunting trip and their unceremonious capture. "And you?"

The man sighed. "Professor Salazar, I have learned that the forces of evil can pervert the best intentions. I came among the Choshas to bring them a message of Christian love and peace; and what happens?"

The missionary paused until Salazar was forced to ask: "What did happen?"

"My first discovery was that Chief Kampai speaks English, at least better than I expected. He also reads the language. I gave him a Bible and found that he is an extremely fast, perceptive reader with an eidetic memory. In a sixtnight he had gone through the whole of the Old and New Testaments, including all the minor prophets, and could quote a passage anywhere from that enormous work."

"Oh!" said the archaeologist. "So that's why he talks Jacobean English!"

"Yes; he believes that is the language of Jesus. He is actually convinced that Jesus appears in dreams and gives him orders to exterminate all the sedentary Kukulcanians on this continent. When this has been done, he thinks Jesus will tell him what to do next. The worst is that, however outrageous his intentions, he can always quote a line of Scripture to justify them.

"For instance, because God favored Abel's offerings of lamb over Cain's of grain, he is sure that God prefers the pastoral life of the Choshas over the agricultural ways of the settled nations.

"He lured the other Chosha chiefs to a parley and killed the lot, making himself the Grand Khan of the nomadic tribes. For justification, he cites the killings of Uriah, Joab, and so forth by David and Solomon."

Salazar commented: "Such treachery is un-Kookish."

"Oh, Kampai cites Samuel's butchering of his prisoner, King Agag."

"Lucky you didn't bring a copy of Machiavelli's Il Principe," said Salazar dryly. "How about this extermination of sedentary peoples?"

"He quotes Deuteronomy twenty, where the Lord tells the Israelites that in the land of Canaan, which the Lord thy God doth give thee for an inheritance, thou shalt leave alive nothing that breatheth, but thou shalt utterly destroy them.' He also mentions First Samuel twenty-seven, how David as a bandit chieftain raided towns and left neither man nor woman alive.' "

"Well," said Salazar, "how would you interpret these passages?"

"My dear professor! I am no simpleminded Biblical literalist. We must understand these things in the light of the conditions in those ancient times. It is my business to separate the divinely-inspired parts from the accretions, the myths and legends—"

"Hey!" said Bergen, finally wide awake. "You guys can argue theology all day; but I want to know, first, what these stinkers are going to do with us; and second, how the hell do we get out?"

"I know no more than you," said Ragnarsen. "Have you seen that pole in front of the big tent, on which Kampai hangs the heads of his enemies?"

"God, no," said Bergen. "It was dark when we got here. Does it include human heads?"

"I believe there are a couple, along with those of the rival chiefs. Kampai cites David's taking Goliath's head for a trophy."

"Goddam natives!" fumed Bergen. "If we could only get in touch with our people in the settlements, we could wipe the bloodthirsty vermin out!"

Salazar said: "After all, Conrad, you collect the heads of other species for trophies. So what's the difference between you and Kampai?"

"Because I'm human, that's what! I got a soul, or at least people like the Reverend here tell me so. They don't."

"They have a similar belief in a spirit that .survives the body. Their evidence is about as good as yours."

"You can treat 'em like they was human; but I know what species I belong to. We ought to show 'em who's boss! The way you old Kookish hands bow and scrape to their chiefs and kings disgusts me. I won't kneel down to any fucking animal! If it wasn't for that pack of spineless, do-gooding, time-serving bureaucrats—"

"I say!" interrupted Travers. "That's unfair. I'm one of those civil servants. In my department, at least, we try to do the right thing. We know we can't please everybody."

"You know the history of the policy, Mr. Bergen," said Ragnarsen. "There are reasons—"

"Bullshit!" roared Bergen. "Now you see what damage meddling by you parsons does. The natives weren't bothering us until you came all the way from Terra to fill them with ideology, which they turn to then-own purposes."

"You are unyust—I mean unjust!" cried Ragnarsen.

Salazar shouted, in the authoritative tone he used on refractory students: "Quiet, all of you! We can't afford to quarrel. Tell me, Reverend, how is it that, if you brought Kampai his new creed, he's thrown you in the clink?"

"I noted the direction his Biblical studies were taking and tried to show him the error of his ways. He did not take kindly to criticism."

"Who does?" said the archaeologist. "What does he intend to do with you?"

"He has not decided."

Motion outside the cage interrupted the colloquy. A group of Choshas appeared at the gate and began untying the rope-lashing that held it closed. When the rope was removed, one Kook slipped through the doorway and beckoned Salazar. As the archaeologist reached the gate, two others seized his arms and marched him off.

The group proceeded to the principal tent, before which rose the malodorous pole that Ragnarsen had mentioned. It had a dozen crossarms, whence hung heads, Kookish and Terran, like ornaments on a Christmas tree.

Inside, Salazar found Prophet Kampai squatting on his gold-embroidered cushions. The Terrans' rifles and cartridge belts were now laid out neatly on either side of the chief, along with the Kookish weapons. Salazar said:

"Good morning, Your Reverence. Is all well with you?"

"Good morning, Sarasara. All is well with me; is all well with thy clan?" (It sounded like "... is aw way with thy cran?")

"All is well with my clan. Have you led a tranquil life?" And so through the litany of Kukulcanian greetings. Between the thick Kookish accent, the erratic grammar, and the Biblical phraseology, Salazar had to pay close attention to follow the Prophet's words. At last Kampai said:

"Thou art Terran scientist, yes?"

"Yes."

The prophet picked up one of the hunters' rifles. "Canst thou make guns like this?"

"No sir. I am not an engineer or a machinist. Even if I were, I should need a machine shop and raw material."

"If thou hadst all the machine shops of Neruu, couldst thou make guns there?"

"No, sir."

"Wherefore not? Ye Terrans call yourselves wise; and thou art scientist, wiser than others."

Salazar sighed. "It is true, Your Reverence, that much knowledge has come into the possession of Terrans on their own world. But the amount is so great that a single Terran can learn only a small fraction of it in his lifetime, even though science has greatly lengthened our life spans. My fraction is knowledge of the remains of people of former times: their houses, utensils, and works of art I have never even seen how a gun is made.

"Now I understand that you intend to kill all the Shongorin, along with all the other sedentary peoples of this world. If you kill them all, there will be no one with the knowledge of how to operate their machines."

Kampai grunted. "Something in what thou sayest, Sarasara. Perchance we must needs keep some alive long enough to show my people how to work machines. But machinists of Neruu hate aught new. Make guns as they did long time past, when people fought with swords.

"I desire guns like unto yours, that shoot bam-bam-bam. Terrans in Henderson and other Terran cities have laws, not to permit us these good guns. Sometimes can bribe Terran to give anyway, but need regular supply. Besides, Terran guns not fit us. Need different stocks." After a pause, Kampai continued: "Cannot see how thou canst be useful, Sarasara. I wait for Jesus to command me what to do with thee. Take him back!"

"A moment, Your Reverence! It would be a great favor to us if, in addition to our food and water, you furnished us with a place where we can answer the call of nature in privacy. We are fussy about such things."

"Call of nature? What that?"

Salazar explained, until Kampai said: "Funny ay-yens. Orright, I give order."

When his escort had delivered Salazar back to the cage, the leading Kook pointed to Bergen and beckoned. While he was gone, other Choshas came in and handed each Terran a wooden bowl of porridge and a horn spoon. To Salazar the food was completely tasteless, but he was inured to such things. While Kara and Travers obviously had to force theirs down, Ragnarsen ate his without emotion and Pokrovskii attacked his as if it were a gourmet feast.

"Is proverb," he said. "Hunger is sauce that make tripe better than caviar."

An hour later, Bergen returned. With a self-satisfied smirk, he said: "It's all fixed. They'll free us as soon as Oleg goes back to Suvarov and returns with a ransom."

"How come?" asked Salazar.

"Simple. Kampai has no particular use for us, now that he's got our guns. He asked me if I could make more rifles like ours at Neruu, and I told him no. Naturally, these creatures have no idea of checks or other commercial paper; so it'll have to be bullion from the Henderson branch of the Suvarov Bank. I suppose he'll use it to buy war materials."

"From gun runners, most like," said Salazar. "Then what's to stop them from wiping out the settlements?"

"We've still got the zappers. Would you rather have your head dangling from that pole?"

"But why Oleg?"

"Because he works for me. They wouldn't let me go; I was too big a fish to turn loose. Kara, haven't you got a notebook and a pen?"

"Yes; I happened to—" she began.

"Give 'em here, so I can write out an authorization."

Salazar asked: "Kara, how come the Kooks didn't take your pen when they searched us?"

She shrugged. "It was in a little pocket in the cover of the notebook. Besides, they're not much used to Terran things."

As Bergen finished his letter, another squad of Choshas, leading three saddled jutens, approached the cage. Pokrovskii cried: "Chort! I won't ride those things!"

"You will," growled Bergen, glowering. "It'll cut the time in half, and we'd better fetch that gold before Himself changes his mind and hangs our heads on his tree."

Pokrovskii sighed. "Hokay, if you raise my salary. Be good reducing exercise."

Soon the construction supervisor, clutching fearfully at his saddle, jounced away with his escort.

Days dragged by on wounded legs. The five in the cage found temperatures mild enough; but when a shower blew up, they had no shelter. After the storm passed, they stripped to underwear and hung their soaking khakis on the cage poles to dry. The Kooks gathered, pointing and croaking. Wearing no clothes and indifferent to weather, they appeared to find the human reaction to rain a source of wonder.

The food was adequately nourishing but routinely tasteless. When Bergen cursed its monotony, Salazar said: "Be glad they're not serving their gourmet delicacy, called yoekan."

"What's wrong with it?" grumbled Bergen.

"You'd call it a compote of mashed bugs."

Bergen clapped a hand to his mouth and half rose before he regained control of his stomach.

To pass the time, the five captives talked in turn about their specialties. Bergen elaborated on grandiose plans for hotels and other enterprises. Ragnarsen gave sermons. Kara told of journalistic triumphs. Travers described the plans of his department for improving the lives of the "natives."

Salazar lectured on archaeology. He hoped to arouse in Bergen some spark of interest in the drama of the rise and fell of civilizations. But, while Kara and Ragnarsen followed his words with active interest, and Travers gave at least polite attention, Bergen's fidgeting and wandering gaze betrayed his boredom. He made his ennui so obvious that, after giving a second talk, Salazar took him aside and said:

"I guess these matters don't interest you much, eh, Conrad?"

Bergen shrugged. "To tell the truth, they don't. There's no money in 'em; and anyway, who cares whether some old guy ate with a knife and fork or chopsticks? What's past is dead and gone. I'm more interested in the future."

Bergen glanced toward Kara who, curled up in a corner of the cage, was napping. He stepped in the opposite direction, beckoned Salazar with a finger to follow, and lowered his voice. "Now listen, Keith. I know we've got to stick together here. But I saw how, at the camp, you'd have walked off with Kara and left the rest of us to cash in our checks in the wilderness."

"Well?"

"I just want you to understand. No matter what she says, she's my woman. If I see you making time with her—well, when you get back to civilization, you'd better have your insurance paid up."

A younger Keith Salazar might have told Bergen to go to hell; but by now he had learned to take the long view. If he and Bergen quarreled openly, or if he gave the developer an excuse to beat him up again, the Kooks would merely gather about to enjoy the spectacle. Besides, Bergen might kill him, in which case there would be nobody to oppose Bergen's aggressions towards Kara. So Salazar's first duty, for the present, was to stay alive and able-bodied. He said evenly:

"My dear Conrad, you seem to think I'm your rival for Kara."

"Well, aren't you? I've seen the way you look at her when you don't think she's watching. You get as horny as those tseturens I shot."

"Whatever my private feelings, she's made it plain she wants nothing from me but a business relationship. As for you, that's up to her."

"Okay; but don't say I didn't warn you," growled Bergen, turning away.

Late on the sixth day, a stir among the Kooks announced Pokrovskii's return. The three jutens and their riders stalked up to the cage. On a lead, one of the escort towed a kudzai, heavy-laden with a pair of large saddle bags. At a Choshas command, Pokrovskii's mount squatted; and the man, now visibly less fat, slid off the juten's tail.

"Damned beast shake me to pieces," he groaned. "But I got your stuff, Conrad. Now we go give it to prophet."

Pokrovskii disappeared with the escort and the beast of burden. An hour later he came back with a crowd of Kooks. The captives eagerly crowded towards the gate.

"No, no!" said Pokrovskii. "Not all at once. Stand back; got to do this right, say Prophet."

A Chosha untied the rope-lashing. When he opened the gate just wide enough for the passage of one person, Pokrovskii ordered: "You first, Conrad."

Bergen slid through. Pokrovskii cried: "Now you, Kara!"

As soon as Travers had made his exit, the Kook slammed the gate and began to tie the lashing back in place.

"Hey!" cried Salazar. "What about us?"

"You stay," grinned Bergen. "Himself has so ordered."

"The hell you say! You fixed it this way—" Salazar leaped to the gate and tried to undo the lashing. But the Chosha on guard punched his knuckles with its scaly fists until he gave up, his hands lacerated and bleeding.

The four freed captives walked off. Salazar saw Kara arguing vehemently with Bergen as they disappeared among the tents. He turned back to Ragnarsen.

"You weren't much help, Hjalmar!"

The minister shrugged. "What could I do? I did not expect to be freed with the rest of you, unless the Prophet had another nocturnal visit from Jesus. I was not surprised, observing how Bergen hates you."

"You figured that out? He and I have been acting fairly civil here."

"I know; but I have some small skill in reading human emotions. I suspect that this animosity arises from your common interest in Miss Sheffield. I understand that she was once married to you and later affianced—"

"And as far as I know," said Salazar, "she wants nothing from either her former husband or her former fiancé."

"Bergen is a man of great force, unused to having his wishes thwarted. He will not give up easily, and I should not wager on Miss Sheffield's ability to restrain him on their present journey." Ragnarsen sighed. "What chance have two simple idealists like us, caught between a visionary fanatic and a selfish, unscrupulous plutocrat? Sometimes one wonders whether the good God knew what he was doing when he designed the universe."

Next morning, using sign language and the few words of Chosha that he had picked up, Salazar indicated that he wished to see Prophet Kampai. An hour's wait later, claw-locked to a pair of guards, he was led to the Prophet's tent. Kampai was judging disputes, so Salazar had to wait for hours more. When at last he was admitted to the revered one's presence, he said:

"Your Holiness, has there not been some mistake? I am sure the ransom arrangement was meant to include me and the Reverend Ragnarsen as well."

"Thou art mistaken, Sarasara," said the Prophet. "Mr. Bergen hath made it plain that payment should be for him and other three alone. Whereas he will be useful to me when I have spread the blessings of my divinely directed rule around this world, I yielded his desires unto him. As for thee, I await instructions from Jesus, as do for thy holy man. Thou mayst go; may thy life be tranquil!"

Salazar spent the rest of the day conferring with Ragnarsen, discussing ideas for escape. The minister, however, took a fatalistic view and lacked enthusiasm for any plan. Extending his hands palms up, he said:

"In addition, it is my duty to undo the harm I have unwittingly done. I must attempt to convince Kampai that the true God is not the bloodthirsty tribal chieftain of the Pentateuch ..."

"Hjalmar," said Salazar, "you haven't learned that in one way, the minds of the Kooks work much like ours."

"What do you mean?"

"They use their brains for thinking up plausible reasons for doing whatever they want to do. Kampai wants to rule the world. If he couldn't find pretexts in the Bible, he'd find them elsewhere or make them up in his own scaly head."

On the third night after Bergen's departure, as Salazar was sleeping fitfully with his back against a corner of the cage, something poked his spine.

"Keith!" Kara whispered. "Get ready to leave. When I shoot the sentry, grab his knife and cut the lashing; there won't be time to untie it."

"What—how—"

"Don't talk; just do as I say!"

Salazar rolled to his feet. He paused to shake Ragnarsen, whispering: "Get up, Hjalmar! We're leaving!"

"Huh? Hva er dette? Oh, it is you—"

"Hush! Come with me!"

Silently the two approached the gate. Salazar dimly glimpsed Kara, flitting ghostlike outside. The sentry stood stolidly; Salazar knew that, in addition to poor night vision, Kooks found it hard to stay awake at night. A flash and the crack of a Terran rifle, and the sentry fell.

"Here!" whispered Kara, thrusting the hilt of the sentry's knife through the bars. Salazar grasped the heavy, broad-bladed weapon in both hands and slashed at the half-seen rope. At the second blow, the lashing parted; and the gate creaked open.

Then the velvet blanket of darkness was rent by the raucous voices of Choshas, aroused by the shot. While gunfire was familiar, since the nomads practiced at targets and fired muskets to celebrate, the sound of a Terran rifle at night in that place called for explanation.

Salazar felt his way through the opening, then turned. "Aren't you coming, Hjalmar?" he whispered.

"No. I must remain to set this misguided chieftain's feet on the path of grace."

"But your head will grace his pole!"

"As God wishes."

"Hurry, Keith!" whispered Kara. "Take the gun."

The pair zigzagged among the tents, whence came a babble of Kookish voices raised in inquiry. As the fugitives rounded a tent, Kara tripped over a tent rope and fell. As Salazar paused to help her up, a musket-bearing Chosha appeared. The Kook shouted and, when the Terrans continued their flight, fired. Salazar heard the whistle of the ball close above his head.

"This way!" gasped Kara as the clamor grew.

Then they were out of the camp. Salazar in turn took a tumble in the darkness. "Goddamn! Bashed my knee," he mumbled as he scrambled up. He ran on, limping.

Two more muskets barked. Kara said: "They've seen us. Let's duck off to the side."

"Okay. To the right!"

They changed direction abruptly. There were more musket shots, but the Choshas seemed to be firing at random.

"Down!" breathed Salazar. "Let 'em go past."

The fugitives threw themselves flat and lay motionless while a group of Choshas ran past them in the darkness, heading in the wrong direction.

For half an hour, Salazar and Kara lay still, taking only shallow breaths, until the search party straggled back to the encampment. Salazar whispered: "Think we can crawl away now."

When they had worked their way on hands and knees beyond the lights of the camp, they rose and began to walk, Salazar painfully.

Kara said, "Unless I've gotten turned around, there's a little stream across our path. I left supplies somewhere along its bank."

They slogged on. Eventually the grassy herbs and low shrubbery of the plain gave way to plants of increasing size, until Salazar nearly bumped into a tree.

"I think this is it," said Kara. "Trees grow along the banks."

"Gallery forest," said Salazar. "Which way is your cache?"

"I don't know. Let's rest here until we can see better."

They sat down wearily, their backs against the tree, and listened for the footsteps of pursuers. At length, Salazar murmured: "Last I saw you, you were going off with Bergen. How did you get the gun? Why did—"

Kara cut him off: "One question at a time! I tried to talk Conrad out of abandoning you, but I might as well have argued with a lamppost. Derek and Oleg had the decency to agree with me, but not to the point of forcing the issue."

"Naturally; he smells of money to them."

"Well, I kept at Conrad, but I only got him to thinking about me. He wanted to revive our engagement; even joked about getting me pregnant, so I'd have to marry him. I didn't find that very funny; even less so when he boasted that, before we reached home, he'd show me what a real man could do, whether I liked it or not. In other words, a good, old-fashioned rape."

Salazar's fists clenched as Kara continued: "So I watched for a chance to get away. The first night, Conrad kept a sharp eye on me; I think he suspected. He's awfully smart, you know. By the second night, we'd fallen into a routine; so I left while the others slept—even the Kook guiding us, whose turn it was to stand watch. I stole some food they'd been given. When I found this stream, I hid my loot and went on to the camp."

"Go on!" said Salazar. "How did you get in?"

"I walked into the camp and, with three words of Chosha and signs, got them to take me to Prophet Kampai. I explained to him about journalism and convinced him that he owed it to posterity to let me proclaim his triumphs, virtues, and ideals. So for hours I interviewed him."

"Flattery will get you everywhere. So?"

"At last I brought the subject around to music. He confessed that he plays an instrument, one where you hit strings with little hammers. He sent his guards away—I suppose he didn't want to lose face before them—and gave me a demonstration. Then I sang some Terran songs. I worked around to lullabies, and presently I had him sleeping soundly. So I picked up your rifle—at least, I hope it's yours—and this bandoleer or whatever you call it."

"Did you think of shooting him?" asked Salazar.

"Yes; but if I had, they'd have been all over me. Even if I'd spoiled his plans of conquest, it wouldn't have gotten you out; and I don't think our heads would have profited from the view atop that pole.

"So I walked out of the tent, as bold as brass. I told the sentries it was Kampai's orders. They couldn't understand the English, but they got the drift and didn't stop me. The rest you know."

"You're simply incredible!" said Salazar. "And now that it's fight enough to go on, which way?"

An hour of wading along the stream bed, squelching through mud banks and hopping from one rounded boulder to another, brought them to Kara's cache in the guDy. This consisted of a bag of native meal, an iron pot, and a folding tripod to hang it from.

The light was now strong enough to give the fugitives a chance to survey each other. Kara suppressed a giggle at Salazar's appearance, and he smiled wryly at hers. Both were covered with dirt and had twigs in their hair. The knee of Salazar's right trouser leg gaped to show a barely-scabbed wound from his recent fall. The legs of both were mud-caked to the calf. Kara still had the well-filled cartridge belt slung over one shoulder. She said:

"Remember that camping trip on Mount Nezumi, when the storm blew our tent away?"

"Shall I ever forget! You were an absolute brick." Salazar hefted the rifle. "This looks like my gun, or at least it's one of the same model."

"I hoped so." Kara collected twigs and sticks and laid a fire on a patch of dry sand beside the stream. Salazar helped, cutting some larger pieces with the Chosha knife.

"How do we start it? Rubbing sticks?" he asked.

"No; I stole a box of matches."

Presently she had a brisk fire going. She scooped stream water into the pot and hung it from the tripod. Salazar asked:

"Did you leave any of this porridge for them?"

"No; why should I? It won't kill them to ride a few days on empty stomachs; it'll serve them right. What'll happen to poor Ragnarsen?"

Salazar shrugged. "Probably have his head dangled from the pole. It was bad enough on Terra, when preachers and politicians went around trying to impose their customs and ideals on peoples of different cultures. Attempting that with another species is a sure way to disaster."

As a ruddy sun peered between the trees on the far side of the stream, Salazar ventured: "Kara darling, you've been an angel and, I admit, I've been an utter louse. But in spite of all, could we ever get together again?"

She poured a handful of meal into the boiling water and stirred. "No, Keith. I admit a lingering fondness for you, like the feeling one has for an old coat. But as for anything closer, forget it. This is either a friendly, businesslike relationship or nothing."

"Then why did you take such a hideous risk?"

"I couldn't let Conrad get away with that monstrous double cross at the expense of someone I'd known so w-well ..." She angrily wiped an eye.

Salazar sighed. "If you ever feel like changing your mind ..."

"I think this mush is about ready," she said. "There's only one spoon; so we'll have to take turns."

When the pot was nearly empty, Salazar paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "Kara, let me ask you something."

"Well?"

"Wait! What's that?"

Before Kara could answer, Salazar's attention was snatched away by the croak of Kookish voices and the creak and rattle of equipment. He warily rose and peered through the shielding vegetation that grew on top of the chest-high bank of the stream.

"Oh, God!" he muttered. "It's the Choshas."

"How did they ever trail us?" whispered Kara.

"They've got a breed of tisai, trained to hunt by smell, like bloodhounds or those pigs the French use to sniff for truffles."

Salazar checked his rifle. "Ten rounds. Let's see that bandoleer!"

When Kara handed him the cartridge belt, he swore under his breath. "Damn! You picked the one with cartridges for Bergen's cannon."

"How stupid of me!"

"Not at all; you wouldn't have known."

"Aren't they compatible?"

"Lord, no! It would be like mating a woman with an elephant."

"Horrible idea—"

"Put the fire out. Oh, oh, too late!"

The approaching Kooks were mounted on jutens, with several of the foremost riders leading tisais on long leashes. Now they all dismounted and, holding their muskets in both clawed hands, like Terran soldiers executing "Port arms!" they advanced briskly, shouting to one another and pointing to the curling thread of smoke. They spread out as they came.

"Maybe they don't know we're armed," muttered Salazar. "Eleven rounds aren't many; but we'll do what we can. They'll have the sun in their eyes."

The nearest Choshas came closer. Kara whispered: "Aren't you going to shoot?"

"Hush! I've got to make every shot count."

When the nearest Kook was scarcely a stone's throw away, Salazar, resting his elbows on the top of the bank, sighted on that particular Chosha and carefully squeezed off a round. The gun banged, and the Chosha fell instantly.

Muskets boomed all up and down the line, emitting cotton-ball puffs of black-powder smoke. Unable to locate their adversaries in the thick brush, Salazar's cartridges being smokeless, the Choshas fired blindly. Salazar shifted his aim to the next attacker and fired; down it went without a squawk. A third fell likewise.

With an outburst of cawing and croaking, the other Choshas in the skirmish line ran back to the safer place where their comrades held their mounts. There were somewhere between a dozen and a score of them. Salazar could see them conferring while they recharged their muzzle-loaders. Some excited tisais ran round and round their handlers, entangling them in their leashes.

Kara said: "Over there to the left, Keith, I think one is crawling toward us on his belly."

"Amerind tactics," muttered Salazar. "A smart Kook." He held his fire until he thought he saw the Chosha's head. "Damn! I pulled too quick and missed. That leaves us—let me think—six rounds."

The Choshas were still conferring in a distant clump. Kara said: "Couldn't you shoot into them from here?"

"The gun would carry easily enough; but I couldn't pick off individuals. Now they're starting to spread out more widely. I see what they're planning to do—go up and down stream, cross over out of range on both sides of us, and come at us from all sides." He chewed his lip, then said: "Kara, quick, stoke up the fire! Then pull those cartridges out of Bergen's bandoleer and pile 'em near the fire; not too close. And first take the pot and the tripod off!"

Kara stoked the fire with the rest of the collected firewood and then set to work on the bandoleer. Salazar aimed toward the creeping Kook. Waiting until the Chosha half rose and brought up its musket, Salazar fired. The Kook disappeared, but there was a thrashing in the shrubbery.

"Winged that one, anyway," he growled. "Five rounds left. How're you coming?"

Kara had removed all the cartridges from their sleeves and was trying to move the pot. But the additional fuel had caused the fire to blaze up, so that it was hard to lift the vessel without getting burned.

"Ouch! That thing's hot!"

"Should have told you to move it first. Use the belt to handle it, dunk the ironware in the stream to cool it, and start downstream, taking all our stuff. Keep your head below the level of the banks."

"But—"

"Don't argue; I know what I'm doing!"

Kara set off, bending low. Salazar poked up the fire, added a couple of branches, and picked up a double handful of the big-gun cartridges. He dumped them on the fire and quickly added the rest of the pile to the flames. Then, snatching up the rifle, he ran crouching after Kara.

Downstream they went with reckless speed, leaping obstacles, stumbling, recovering, and pushing on. Behind them, one of the fourteen-millimeter cartridges exploded, then another, then a whole fusillade. The Choshas' muskets answered, firing in the direction of the sound.

When Salazar and Kara stopped to catch a belated breath, half a kilometer beyond the fire, they could still hear an occasional boom of Bergen's huge cartridges and the answering reports from the Choshas' muskets.

At length they resumed their flight, though at a more moderate pace. But of the Choshas they saw no more.