fire
had been buried with earth, and already the cave seemed bleak. They ate
venison roasted the night before and went out into the chill of a fog. A
little way down the valley McNeil joined them out of the mist from his
guard post. Keeping their pace to one which favored Ashe's healing
wound, they made their way inland in the direction of the track linking
the villages.

Crossing that road they continued northward, the land beginning to rise
under them. Far away they heard the blatting of sheep, the bark of a
dog. In the fog, Ross stumbled in a shallow ditch beyond which lay a
stubbled field. Ashe paused to look about him, his nostrils expanding as
if he were a hound smelling out their trail.

The three went on, crossing a whole series of small, irregular fields.
Ross was sure that the yield from any of these cleared strips must be
scanty. The fog was thickening. Ashe pressed the pace, using his
handmade crutch carefully. He gave an audible sigh of relief when they
were faced at last by two stone monoliths rising like pillars. A third
stone lay across them, forming a rude arch through which they saw a
narrow valley running back into the hills.

Through the fog Ross could sense the eerie strangeness of the valley
beyond the massive gate. He would have said that he was not
superstitious, that he had merely studied these tribal beliefs as
lessons; he had not accepted them. Yet now, if he had been alone, he
would have avoided that place and turned aside from the valley, for that
which waited within was not for him. To his secret relief Ashe paused by
the arch to wait.

The older man gestured the other two into cover. Ross obeyed willingly,
though the dank drops of condensing fog dripped on his cloak and wet his
face as he brushed against prickly-leafed shrubs. Here were walls of
evergreen plants and dwarfed pines almost as if this tunnel of
year-round greenery had been planted with some purpose in mind. Once his
companions had concealed themselves, Ashe called, shrill but sweetly,
with a bird's rising notes. Three times he made that sound before a
figure moved in the fog, the rough gray-white of its long cloak melting
in the wisps of mist.

Down that green tunnel, out of the heart of the valley, the other came,
a loop of cloak concealing the entire figure. It halted right in back of
the arch and Ashe, making a gesture to the others to stay where they
were, faced the muffled stranger.

"Hands and feet of the Mother,