the desert to blow across the slit which held the
river, carrying with it a fine shifting of sand which coasted down into
the water as a gray haze, coating men, animals, and raft, and sighing as
snow sighs when it falls.

Only that did not drown out another cry, a thin cry, diluted by the
miles of land stretching behind them, but yet carrying that long
ululating howl they had heard in the Throg camp. Thorvald grinned
mirthlessly.

"The hound's on trail."

He bent to the pole, using it to aid the pace of the current. Shann,
chilled in spite of the sun's heat, followed his example, wondering if
time had ceased to fight on their side.

6. THE HOUND

The sun was a harsh ball of heat baking the ground and then, in some odd
manner, drawing back that same fieriness. In the coolness of the eastern
mountains Shann would not have believed that Warlock could hold such
heat. The men discarded their jackets early as they swung to dip the
poles. But they dared not strip off the rest of their clothing lest
their skin burn. And again gusts of wind now drove sand over the edge of
the cut to blanket the water.

Shann wiped his eyes, pausing in his eternal push-push, to look at the
rocks which they were passing in threatening proximity. For the slash
which held the river had narrowed. And the rock of its walls was naked
of earth, save for sheltered pockets holding the drift of sand dust,
while boulders of all sizes cut into the path of the flowing water.

He had not been mistaken; they were going faster, faster even than their
efforts with the poles would account for. With the narrowing of the bed
of the stream, the current was taking on a new swiftness. Shann said as
much and Thorvald nodded.

"We're approaching the first of the rapids."

"Where we get off and walk around," Shann croaked wearily. The dust
gritted between his teeth, irritated his eyes. "Do we stay beside the
river?"

"As long as we can," Thorvald replied somberly. "We have no way of
transporting water."

Yes, a man could live on very slim rations of food, continue to beat his
way over a bad trail if he had the concentrate tablets they carried. But
there was no going without water, and in this heat such an effort would
finish them quickly. Always they both listened for another cry from
behind, a cry to tell them just how near the Throg hunting party had
come.

"No Throg flyers yet," Shann observed. He had expected one of those
black plates to come