innocent until proven guilty.”
Mudge spat on the ground. “Another o’ your other-
worldly misconceptions.”
“It’s not otherworldly. It’s a universal truism,” Jon-
Tom argued.
“Not in this universe it ain’t.”
Roseroar let them argue while she assumed the lead,
glancing occasionally at the ground to make sure they were
still on the trail, scanning the woods for signs of ambush.
For the moment she preferred to ignore both of her
argumentative companions.
From time to time Mudge would move up alongside her
to dip his nose to the earth. Sometimes the footprints of
their quarry would disappear under standing water or mix
with the tracks of other creatures. Mudge always regained
the trail.
“Must ‘ave took off right after the last o’ us fell
asleep,” the otter commented that afternoon. “I guess
them to be at least six hours ahead of us, probably more.”
“We’ll catch them.” Jon-Tom was covering the ground
easily with long, practiced strides.
“Maybe that ferret weren’t so old as ‘e made ‘imself out
to be,” Mudge suggested.
“We’ll still catch them.”
But the day went with no sign of girl and ferret. They
THE DAY or THE DISSONANCE
207
let Roseroar lead them on through the darkness, until
accumulating bumps and bruises forced Jon-Tom to call a
halt for the night. They slept fitfully and were up again
before the dawn.
By afternoon the last trees had surrendered to scrub
brush and bare rock. Ahead of them a broad, hilly plain of
yellow and brown mixed with the pure white of gypsum
stretched from horizon to horizon. It was high desert, and