k they must discover a protected camp site.

They needed water, food. He had a bare half dozen ration tablets. But
the coyotes could locate water.

"Come!" Travis beckoned to Kaydessa, motioning her to climb ahead of him
so that he could watch for any indication of her succumbing once again
to the influence of the enemy. But his burdened early morning flight had
told on Travis more than he thought, and he discovered he could not spur
himself on to a pace better than a walk. Now and again one of the
coyotes, usually Nalik'ideyu, would come into view, express impatience
in both stance and mental signal, and then be gone again. The Apache was
increasingly aware that the animals were disturbed, yet to his tentative
gropings at contact they did not reply. Since they gave no warning of
hostile animal or man, he could only be on constant guard, watching the
countryside about him.

They had been following a ledge for several minutes before Travis was
aware of some strange features of that path. Perhaps he had actually
noted them with a trained eye before his archaeological studies of the
recent past gave him a reason for the faint marks. This crack in the
mountain's skin might have begun as a natural fault, but afterward it
had been worked with tools, smoothed, widened to serve the purpose of
some form of intelligence!

Travis caught at Kaydessa's shoulder to slow her pace. He could not have
told why he did not want to speak aloud here, but he felt the need for
silence. She glanced around, perplexed, more so when he went down on his
knees and ran his fingers along one of those ancient tool marks. He was
certain it was very old. Inside of him anticipation bubbled. A road made
with such labor could only lead to something of importance. He was going
to make the discovery, the dream which had first drawn him into these
mountains.

"What is it?" Kaydessa knelt beside him, frowning at the ledge.

"This was cut by someone, a long time ago," Travis half whispered and
then wondered why. There was no reason to believe the road makers could
hear him when perhaps a thousand years or more lay between the chipping
of that stone and this day.

The Tatar girl looked over her shoulder. Perhaps she too was troubled by
the sense that here time was subtly telescoped, that past and present
might be meeting. Or was that feeling with them both because of their
enforced conditioning?

"Who?" Now her voice sank in turn.

"Listen--" he regard