d Boyd, as over
himself.

Somehow he held on, trying to move. The pile of wood by the hearth was
diminishing steadily. He would soon have to let the fire die out. To
venture out of the house in quest of more fuel was too risky. And
always he was aware of Jas's tight regard. Simmy had fallen asleep, his
thin, weasel face hidden as his head lolled forward on his chest.
Hatch's eyes were also closed.

Drew straightened with a start, conscious of having lost seconds--or
moments--somewhere in a fog. He jerked aside, perhaps warned by his
scout's sixth sense more than any real knowledge of danger. There was a
searing flash beside his head, the bite of fire on his cheek. If he had
not moved, he would have received that blazing brand straight between
the eyes. Now he rolled, snapping out a shot.

A man shouted hoarsely and Drew strove to avoid a kick, struggling to
win to his feet, unable to tell just what was happening.

13

_Disaster_

Simmy's animallike howling filled the room. Jas', his hand bleeding
afresh, sopping through the bandage his captors had twisted about the
wound, sprawled forward, clawing with those reddened fingers for the
Spencer. While Hatch, eyes and upper portions of his hair-matted cheeks
bulging over the gag, kicked out, striving to come at Drew with the
frenzy of a man making a last desperate play.

The brand Jas' had hurled was smoldering on Boyd's blankets. Drew sent
it flying with the toe of his boot and made a quick movement to stamp
out a small spurt of flame. Then he kicked it again, spinning the
Spencer back against the wall.

Simmy's cry died to a whimper. A wide stain spread over his nondescript
coat just above the belt, and Drew knew that his first shot had found
that target. But he was in charge of the situation once again. Both
Hatch and Jas' had subsided, the one eyeing the threat of Drew's weapon,
the other again nursing his hand, his face drawn into a grin of agony.

The smell of burning cloth was a sour stench. Drew moved to beat out a
new blaze in the bedcovers. He coughed in acrid smoke and felt the
smart of the burn along his neck and jaw where the brand had hit him.
Simmy rolled on the floor, bent double.

"Drew!" Boyd was struggling free of his blankets, up on one elbow,
staring about him as one who had wakened into a nightmare rather than
having come out of such a dream.

"It's all right...."

But was it? Hatch had subsided. Jas' was quiet; there was nothing