?"

"A division of time, lad--one sixtieth of a minute."

"Oh. What on Earth would you want to measure that accurately for?"

"For getting women out of trailers in a hurry, lad. Now--let's look for
sentries."

* * *

There were two guarding the trailer--men-at-arms from Dugald's holding,
Geoffrey noticed--carrying shotguns and lounging in the shadows. One of
them had a wineskin--Geoffrey heard the gurgle plainly--and the other
was constantly turning away from the trailer to listen to the shrieks
and shouting coming from among the other vehicles of the train, where
other guards were not being quite as careful of their masters' new
property.

"I see they've found the quartermaster's waggons," The Barbarian said
drily. "Now, then, lad--you work away toward the right, there, and I'll
take the left. Here--take my knife. I won't need it." The Barbarian
passed over a length of steel as big as a short-sword, but oddly curved
and sharpened down one side of the blade. "Stab if you can, but if you
have to cut, that blade'll go through a man's forearm. Remember you're
not holding one of those overgrown daggers of yours."

"And just why should I kill a man for you?"

"Do you think that man won't try to kill you?"

Geoffrey had no satisfactory answer to that. He moved abruptly off into
the brush, holding The Barbarian's knife, and wondering just how far he
was obligated for a bandaged chest and half a pint of water. But a man's
duty to his rescuer was plain enough, and, besides, just what else was
there to do?

The blame for it all went squarely back to Dugald, and Geoffrey did not
love him for it. He slipped through the bushes until he was only a few
yards from the man who had the wineskin, and waited for The Barbarian to
appear at the opposite end of the trailer.

When it happened, it happened quite suddenly, as these things will. One
moment the other sentry was craning his neck for another look at what
was going on elsewhere. The next he was down on his knees, croaking
through a compressed throat, with The Barbarian's arm under his chin and
a driving knee ready to smash at the back of his neck again.

Geoffrey jumped forward, toward his own man. The man-at-arms had dropped
his wineskin in surprise and was staring at what was happening to his
comrade. When he heard Geoffrey come out of the underbrush, the face he
turned was white and oddly distended with shock, as though all the bones
had drained o