, they were still in enemy territory. With Ashe wounded, the odds
against them were so high it was almost hopeless.

Working hurriedly with strips torn from McNeil's kilt, they managed to
stop the flow of blood from Ashe's wound. Although he was still groggy,
he was fighting, driven by the fear which whipped them all--time was one
of their foremost enemies. Ross, Ashe's gun in hand, kept watch on the
transfer plate, ready to shoot at anything appearing there.

"That will have to do!" Ashe pulled free from McNeil. "We must move." He
hesitated, and then pulling the spools of tape from his bloodstained
tunic, passed them to McNeil. "You'd better carry these."

"All right," the other answered almost absently.

"Move!" The force of that order from Ashe sent them into the corridor
beyond. "The plate...."

But the plate remained clear. And Ross noted that they must have
returned to the proper time, for the walls about them were the logs and
stone of the village he remembered.

"Someone coming through?"

"Should be--soon."

They fled, the hide boots of the other two making only the faintest
whisper of sound, Ross's foam-soled feet none at all. He could not have
found the door to the outer world, but again Ashe guided them, and only
once did they have to seek cover. At last they faced a barred door. Ashe
leaned against the wall, McNeil supporting him, as Ross pulled free the
locking beam. They let themselves out into the night.

"Which way?" McNeil asked.

To Ross's surprise Ashe did not turn to the gate in the outer stockade.
Instead he gestured at the mountain wall in the opposite direction.
"They'll expect us to try for the valley pass. So we had better go up
the slope there."

"That has the look of a tough climb," ventured McNeil.

Ashe stirred. "When it becomes too tough for me"--his voice was dry--"I
shall say so, never fear."

He started out with some of his old ease of movement, but his companions
closed in on either side, ready to offer aid. Ross often wondered later
if they could have won free of the village on their own efforts that
night. He was sure their resolution would have been equal to the
attempt, but their escape would have depended upon a fabulous run of
luck such as men seldom encounter.

As it was, they had just reached a pool of shadow beside a small hut
some two buildings away from the one they had fled, when the fireworks
began. As if on signal the three fugitives threw themselves flat.