stling sound
of some small and fleeing forest creature.

Presently the ground began to rise, and not long afterward the trees
thinned out temporarily and rohorse and rider emerged on the moonlit
crest of the ridge that separated the two valleys. In the distance
Mallory made out the moon-gilt towers and turrets of a large castle,
and knew it to be Carbonek beyond a doubt. He sighed with relief. He
was all set now--provided his masquerade went over. Conversely, if it
didn't go over he was finished: his sword and his spear were his only
weapons, and his shield and his armor, his only protection. True, each
article was superior in quality and durability to its corresponding
article in the Age of Chivalry, but otherwise none of them was
anything more than what it seemed. Mallory might be a time-thief; but
within the framework of his profession he believed in playing fair.

In response to his encephalopathed directions, Easy Money picked its
way down the slope of the ridge and re-entered the forest. Not long
afterward it stepped onto what was euphemistically referred to in that
day and age as a "highway" but which in reality was little more than a
wide, hoof-trampled lane. As Mallory's entire plan of action was based
on boldness, he spurned the shadows of the bordering oaks and beeches
and encephalopathed the rohorse to keep to the center of the lane. He
met no one, however, despite the earliness of the hour, nor had he
really expected to. It was highly improbable that any freemen would be
abroad after dark, and as for the knight-errants who happened to be in
the neighborhood, it was highly improbable that any of them would be
abroad after dark either.

He grinned. To read _Le Morte d'Arthur,_ you'd think that the chivalry
boys had been in business twenty-four hours a day, slaying ogres,
rescuing fair damosels, and searching for the Sangraal; but not if you
read between the lines. Mallory had read "Arthur" only cursorily, but
he had had a hunch all along that in the majority of cases the quest
for the Sangraal had served as an out, and that the knights of the
Table Round had spent more time wenching and wassailing than they had
conducting their so-called dedicated search, and the hunch had played
an important role in the shaping of his strategy.

The highway turned this way and that, never pursuing a straight course
unless such a logical procedure was unavoidable. Once, he thought he
heard hoofbeats up ahead, but he met n