ves in the bush. I will guide the search away
from you."

I ran ahead of the tottering figure and she followed, her steps
gathering strength. Faster she followed until we raced along the dim
cavern way. The rocky roof opened out and the blue sky showed overhead.
The prince had gestured to me when we had entered to a ledge that angled
upward from the gully, and I knew now what he had meant.

I could not keep up with the great strides of the now fully aroused
Croen goddess. She turned back, picked me up like a child, and in great
leaps bounded up the side of the canyon along the ledge. Up and up and
over, and still she ran, untiring. I was not rescuing, I was being
rescued!

As we ran beneath the shadow of the trees, a figure rose suddenly up
before us. I was astounded to see it was Holaf, whom I had thought the
Jivros had already dealt with.

"I await you, Cyane, great one, to guide you to safety. The prince has
sent me," he cried.

The great striding creature slowed, spoke to me with a voice full of a
deep music.

"Do you trust this man?"

"He may be trusted in this case. He has already risked his life to set
you free."

She set me down. I looked at Holaf, who was too excited to be amused.

"Hasten, we must get under cover at once. A place awaits, and many men,
arms, tools. We have long fought for this day, Cyane!" Holaf was wholly
ecstatic to see the success of his plans. I realized the prince had made
an ally of him with the same kind of interview the queen had granted me.

Holaf led us around the side of the mountain, keeping in the shelter of
the trees, and by a back route to the same hideaway in the mountainside
where I had first met him.

I greeted Nokomee with a glad smile, but her smile was not so glad and
my heart was hurt to find she was angry with me. But the great Croen
creature left us no time for argument.

The caves where the two hundred or so Zervs had hidden for so long were
quite numerous and confusingly branched. There was room there to hide an
army if needed.

I went at once to the small chamber where Nokomee had placed the packs
and camping equipment from the horses, and took out one of Hank's big
old forty-fives, belted it on. The old-fashioned belt was filled with
cartridges. I also took my own Winchester Model .70. I had a plentiful
supply of 130-grain Spitzer-point bullets, a high-velocity, long-range
killer that I might get a chance to use. I filled my pockets with
cartridge