Kickaha started to climb down. Most of the lions seemed to be paying no attention to him. But a male sprang into the air and a long-clawed paw came within six inches of his foot. He went back up the tree.
“They don’t seem to be in a mood to be bluffed,” he said. “Some days they are. Today, well …”
From his height in the tree he could see part of the wagon train, even in the moonlight. Presently the moon went around the monolith and the sun followed it from the east. The caravaneers began to wake. Campfires were built, and the bustle of getting ready for breakfast and then breaking camp began. Presently, a number of soldiers, colorful in long-feathered wooden casques, scarlet quilt-cuirasses, green feathered kilts, and yellow-dyed leggings, mounted their horses. They formed a crescent within which men and women, carrying pots, kettles, jugs, and other utensils, marched. They headed toward the waterhole.
Kickaha groaned. Occasionally he outfoxed himself, and this could be one of the occasions.
There was not the slightest doubt about his choice. It would be far better to face the lions than to be captured by the Tishquetmoac. While he
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might be able to talk them out of turning him over to the Teutoniacs, he doubted it very much. Anyway, he could not afford to risk their mercy.
He said, “Anana, I’m going north, and I’m going fast. Coming along?”
She looked down at the big male lion, crouched at the foot of the tree and staring up with huge green eyes. His mouth also stared. Four canines, two up, two down, seemed as long as daggers.
“You must be crazy,” she said.
“You stay here if you want to. So long, if ever!”
He began to climb down but on the other side of the tree, away from the lion. The great beast arose and roared, and then the others were on their feet and pointing toward the approaching humans. The wind had brought their scent.
For a moment, the cats did not seem to know what to do. Then the male under the tree roared and slunk off and the others followed him. Kickaha dropped the rest of the way and ran in the same direction as the lions. He did not look back, but he hoped that Anana would have enough presence of mind to follow him. If the soldiers caught her, or even saw her, they would search the area on the premise that other fugitives might be nearby.
He heard her feet thudding on the earth, and then she was close behind him. He looked back then, not at her but for signs of the cavalry. He saw the head of one soldier appear over a slight rise, and he grabbed Anana and pulled her down into the high grass.
There was a shout—the rider had seen them. It was to be expected. And now . . . ?
Kickaha stood up and looked. The first rider was in full view. He was standing up in the stirrups and pointing in their direction. Others were com-
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ing up behind him. Then the lead man was riding toward them, his lance couched.
Kickaha looked behind him. Plains and tall grass and a few trees here and there. Far off, a gray many-humped mass that was a herd of mammoths. The lions were somewhere in the grass.
The big cats would have to be his joker. If he could spring them at the right time, and not get caught himself, then he might get away.
He said, “Follow me!” and began to run as swiftly as he had ever run in his life. Behind him, the soldiers yelled and the horses’ hooves krok-krok-krokked.
The lions failed him. They scattered away, bounding easily, not panicked but just not wanting to turn to fight at this moment. They did not give him the opportunity he sought to flee while horse and rider were being clawed down by lions at bay.
Some of the cavalry passed him and then they had turned and were facing him, their lances forming a crescent. Behind him, other lances made a half ring. He and Anana were between the crescents with no place to go unless they hurled themselves on the lance-points.