t.

Ashe proved to be a prophet to be honored on two counts. They did make
the trek to the river the next day, and there was a wealth of raft
material marking the high-water level of the spring flood. The
migrations McNeil had reported were still in progress, and the three men
hid twice to watch the passing of small family clans. Once a respectably
sized tribe, including wounded men, marched across their route, seeking
a ford at the river.

"They've been badly mauled," McNeil whispered as they watched the people
huddled along the water's edge while scouts cast upstream and down,
searching for a ford. When they returned with the news that there was no
ford to be found, the tribesmen then sullenly went to work with flint
axes and knives to make rafts.

"Pressure--they are on the run." Ashe rested his chin on his good
forearm and studied the busy scene. "These are not from the village.
Notice the dress and the red paint on their faces. They're not like
Ulffa's kin either. I wouldn't say they were local at all."

"Reminds me of something I saw once--animals running before a forest
fire. They can't all be looking for new hunting territory," McNeil
returned.

"Reds sweeping them out," Ross suggested. "Or could the ship people--?"

Ashe started to shake his head and then winced. "I wonder...." The
crease between his level brows deepened. "The ax people!" His voice was
still a whisper, but it carried a note of triumph as if he had fitted
some stubborn jigsaw piece into its proper place.

"Ax people?"

"Invasion of another people from the east. They turned up in prehistory
about this period. Remember, Webb spoke of them. They used axes for
weapons and tamed horses."

"Tartars"--McNeil was puzzled--"This far west?"

"Not Tartars, no. You needn't expect those to come boiling out of middle
Asia for some thousands of years yet. We don't know too much about the
ax people, save that they moved west from the interior plains.
Eventually they crossed to Britain; perhaps they were the ancestors of
the Celts who loved horses too. But in their time they were a tidal
wave."

"The sooner we head downstream, the better." McNeil stirred restlessly,
but they knew that they must keep to cover until the tribesmen below
were gone. So they lay in hiding another night, witnessing on the next
morning the arrival of a smaller party of the red-painted men, again
with wounded among them. At the coming of this rear guard the activity
on the