“And here they went to sleep in order to wait out some danger—time or disaster—they did not believe would be permanent,” Buck mused.
Travis thought he would flee from the eyes of the sleepers throughout his dreams that night, but on the contrary he slept heavily, finding it hard to rouse when Jil-Lee awakened him for his watch. But he was alert when he saw a four-footed shape flit out of the shadows, drink water from the stream, and shake itself vigorously in a spray of drops.
“Naginlta!” he greeted the coyote. Trouble? He could have shouted that question, but he put a tight rein on his impatience and strove to communicate in the only method possible.
No, what the coyote had come to report was not trouble but the fact that the one he had been set to guard was headed back into the mountains, though others came with her—four others. Nalik’ideyu still watched their camp. Her mate had come for further orders.
Travis squatted before the animal, cupped the coyote’s jowls between his palms. Naginlta suffered his touch with only a small whine of uneasiness. With all his power of mental suggestion, Travis strove to reach the keen brain served by the yellow eyes looking into his.
The others with Kaydessa were to be led on, taken to the ship. But Kaydessa must not suffer harm. When they reached a spot near-by—Travis thought of a certain rock beyond the pass—then one of the coyotes was to go ahead to the ship. Let the Apaches there know . . .
Manulito and Eskelta should also be warned by the sentry along the peaks, but additional alerting would not go amiss. Those four with Kaydessa—they must reach the trap!
“What was that?” Buck rolled out of his blanket.
“Naginlta—” The coyote sped back into the dark again. “The Russians have taken the bait, a party of at least four with Kaydessa are moving into the foothills, heading south.”
But the enemy party was not the only one on the move. In the light of day a sentry’s mirror from a point in the peaks sent another warning down to their camp.
Out in their mountain meadows the Tatar outlaws were on horseback, moving toward the entrance of the tower valley. Buck knelt by the blanket covering the alien weapons.
“Now what?”
“We’ll have to stop them,” Travis replied, but he had no idea of just how they would halt those determined Mongol horsemen.
17
There were ten of them riding on small, wiry steppe ponies—men and women both, and well armed. Travis recalled it was the custom of the Horde that the women fought as warriors when necessary. Menlik—there was no mistaking the flapping robe of their leader. And they were singing! The rider behind the shaman thumped with violent energy a drum fastened beside his saddle horn, its heavy boom, boom the same call the Apache had heard before. The Mongols were working themselves into the mood for some desperate effort, Travis deduced. And if they were too deeply under the Russian spell, there would be no arguing with them. He could wait no longer.
The Apache swung down from a ledge near the valley gate, moved into the open and stood waiting, the alien weapon resting across his forearm. If necessary, he intended to give a demonstration with it for an object lesson.
“Dar-u-gar!” The war cry which had once awakened fear across a quarter of Earth. Thin here, and from only a few throats, but just as menacing.
Two of the horsemen aimed lances, preparing to ride him down. Travis sighted a tree midway between them and pressed the firing button. This time there was a flash, a flicker of light, to mark the disappearance of a living thing.
One of the lancers’ ponies reared, squealed in fear. The other kept on his course.
“Menlik!” Travis shouted. “Hold up your man! I do not want to kill!”
The shaman called out, but the lancer was already level with the vanished tree, his head half turned on his shoulders to witness the blackened earth where it had stood. Then he dropped his lance, sawed on the reins. A rifle bullet might not have halted his charge, unless it killed or wounded, but what he had just seen was a thing beyond his understanding.
The tribesmen sat their horses, facing Travis, watching him with the feral eyes of the wolves they claimed as forefathers, wolves that possessed the cunning of the wild, cunning enough not to rush breakneck into unknown danger.
Travis walked forward. “Menlik, I would talk—”
There was an outburst from the horsemen, protests from Hulagur and one or two of the others. But the shaman urged his mount into a walking pace toward the Apache until they stood only a few feet from each other—the warrior of the steppes and the Horde facing the warrior of the desert and the People.
“You have taken a woman from our yurts,” Menlik said, but his eyes were more on the alien gun than on the man who held it. “Brave are you to come again into our land. He who sets foot in the stirrup must mount into the saddle; he who draws blade free of the scabbard must be prepared to use it.”
“The Horde is not here—I see only a handful of people,” Travis replied. “Does Menlik propose to go up against the Apaches so? Yet there are those who are his greater enemies.”
“A stealer of women is not such a one as needs a regiment to face him.”
Suddenly Travis was impatient of the ceremonious talking; there was so little time.
“Listen, and listen well, Shaman!” He spoke curtly now. “I have not got your woman. She is already crossing the mountains southward,” he pointed with his chin—”leading the Russians into a trap.”
Would Menlik believe him? There was no need, Travis decided, to tell him now that Kaydessa’s part in this affair was involuntary.
“And you?” The shaman asked the question the Apache had hoped to hear.
“We,” Travis emphasized that, “march now against those hiding behind in their ship out there.” He indicated the northern plains.
Menlik raised his head, surveying the land about them with disbelieving, contemptuous appraisal.
“You are chief then of an army, an army equipped with magic to overcome machines?”
“One needs no army when he carries this.” For the second time Travis displayed the power of the weapon he carried, this time cutting into shifting rubble an outcrop of cliff wall. Menlik’s expression did not change, though his eyes narrowed.
The shaman signaled his small company, and they dismounted. Travis was heartened by this sign that Menlik was willing to talk. The Apache made a similar gesture, and Jil-Lee and Buck, their own weapons well in sight, came out to back him. Travis knew that the Tatar had no way of knowing that the three were alone; he well might have believed an unseen troop of Apaches were near-by and so armed.
“You would talk—then talk!” Menlik ordered.
This time Travis outlined events with an absence of word embroidery. “Kaydessa leads the Russians into a trap we have set beyond the peaks—four of them ride with her. How many now remain in the ship near the settlement?”
“There are at least two in the flyer, perhaps eight more in the ship. But there is no getting at them in there.”
“No?” Travis laughed softly, shifted the weapon on his arm. “Do you not think that this will crack the shell of that nut so that we can get at the meat?”
Menlik’s eyes flickered to the left, to the tree which was no longer a tree but a thin deposit of ash on seared ground.
“They can control us with the caller as they did before. If we go up against them, then we are once more gathered into their net—before we reach their ship.”
“That is true for you of the Horde; it does not affect the People,” Travis returned. “And suppose we burn out their machines? Then will you not be free?”
“To burn up a tree? Lightning from the skies can do that.”
“Can lightning,” Buck asked softly, “also make rock as sand of the river?”
Menlik’s eyes turned to the second example of the alien weapon’s power.
“Give us proof that this will act against their machines!”
“What proof, Shaman?” asked Jil-Lee. “Shall we burn down a mountain that you may believe? This is now a matter of time.”
Travis had a sudden inspiration. “You say that the ‘copter is out. Suppose we use that as a target?”
“That—that can sweep the flyer from the sky?” Menlik’s disbelief was open.
Travis wondered if he had gone too far. But they needed to rid themselves of that spying craft before they dared to move out into the plain. And to use the destruction of the helicopter as an example, would be the best proof he could give of the invincibility of the new Apache arms.