s cut in softly. He was standing close
to the edge of the clearing where they were building their hut, his hand
on one of the saplings in the palisade they had set up so laboriously
that day. Ashe was beside him in an instant.

"What is it?"

Ross's hours of listening to the sounds of the wilderness were his
measuring gauge now. "That bird has never called from inland before. It
is the blue one we've seen fishing for frogs along the river."

Ashe, not even glancing at the forest, went for the water jug. "Get your
trail supplies," he ordered.

Their leather pouches which held enough iron rations to keep them going
were always at hand. McNeil gathered them from behind the fur curtain
fronting their half-finished cabin. Again the bird called, its cry
piercing and covering a long distance. Ross could understand why a
careless man would select it for the signal. He crossed the clearing to
the donkeys' shelter, slashing through their nose halters. Probably the
patient little beasts would swiftly fall victims to some forest
prowlers, but at least they would have their chance to escape.

McNeil, his cloak slung about him to conceal the ration bags, picked up
the leather bucket as if he were merely going down to the river for
water, and came to join Ross. They believed that they were carrying it
off well, that the camp must appear normal to any lurkers in the woods.
But either they had made some slip or the enemy was impatient. An arrow
sped out of the night to flash across the fire, and Ashe escaped death
only because he had leaned forward to feed the flames. His arm swung out
and sent the water in the jar hissing onto the blaze as he himself
rolled in the other direction.

Ross plunged for the brush with McNeil. Lying flat on the half-frozen
ground, they started to work their way to the river bank where the open
area would make surprise less possible.

"Ashe?" he whispered and felt McNeil's warm breath on his cheek as he
replied:

"He'll make it the other way! He's the best we have for this sort of
job."

They made a worm's progress, twice lying, with dagger in hand, while
they listened to a faint rustle which betrayed the passing of one of the
attackers. Both times Ross was tempted to rise and try to cut off the
stranger, but he fought down the impulse. He had learned a control of
himself that would have been impossible for him a few months earlier.

The glimmer of the river was pale through the clumps of bushes w