"Thanks. My family never credited me with much brains, but maybe I'll disappoint them yet. It just occurred to me that I needn't have told you who I was; I could have explained the trademark by saying I'd bought this suit secondhand."
"But you'd hardly have repainted your horse, even if he was secondhand, also, would you?"
"Say, you're the damnedest young person. No matter what I say you go me one better." He thought a minute, and asked, "How long were you in Kelly's castle?"
"Three days."
Three days, eh? A lot could happen in that time. But if she wasn't going to tell him about it of her own accord, he certainly wasn't going to ask her. The question was, in fact, never referred to by either again.
"And where," asked Sir Howard, "did you get all that information about Paul Jones, and the times when men had guns, and so forth?"
"Out of books, mostly."
"Books, huh? I didn't know there were books on those things, unless the hoppers have some. Speaking of the devil—"
He tilted his head back to watch a flying machine snore overhead and dwindle to a mote in the cloudless sky. There was the sound of a quickly indrawn breath beside him. He turned to the girl. Her voice was low and intensely serious. "Sir Howard, you've done me a great service, and you want to help me out, don't you? Well, whatever happens, I don't want to fall into their hands. I'd rather go back to Kelly's castle."
"But what—" He stopped. She seemed genuinely frightened. She hadn't been at all frightened of Kelly, he thought; merely angry and contemptuous.
"You don't have to worry about me," he reassured her. "I don't like them, either." He told her about his brother. "And now," he said, "I'm going to catch a couple of hours' sleep. Wake me if anybody comes in sight."
It seemed to him that he had hardly found a comfortable position before his shoulder was being shaken. "Wake up!" she said, "Wake . . . up . . . oh, confound you, wake . . . up!"
"Haas?" he mumbled, blinking.
"No, one of them. I shook you and shook you—"
He got up so suddenly that he almost upset her. His sleepiness was as though it had never been.
The sun was low in the sky. Over the sand and grass a two-wheeled vehicle was approaching the group of pines. Sir Howard glanced at Paul Jones, nibbling contentedly at the tops of timothy weeds. "No use trying to run," he said. "It would see us, and those cycles can go like a lightning flash late for a date. Three or four times as fast as a horse, anyway. We'll have to bluff it out. Maybe it doesn't want us, really."
The vehicle headed straight into the pines and purred to a stop, remaining upright on its two wheels. The rounded lucite top opened, and a hopper got out unhurriedly. The two human beings saluted. They became aware of the faint cheesy odor of the thing.
"You are Sir William Scranton," it chirped.
Sir Howard saw no reason for denying such a flat statement. "Yes, your excellency."
"You killed Warren Kelly last night."
"No, your excellency." The beady black eyes under the leather helmet seemed to bore into him. The pointed face carried no message of emotion. The ratlike whiskers quivered as they always did.
"Do not contradict, Man. It is known that you did."
Sir Howard's mouth was dry, and his bones seemed to have turned to jelly. He who had been in six pitched battles without turning a hair, and who had snatched a robber chief's captive out from under his nose, was frightened. The hopper's clawed hand rested casually on the butt of a small gun in a belt holster. Sir Howard, like most human beings of his time, was terrified of guns. He had no idea of how they worked. A hopper pointed a harmless-looking tool at you, and there was a flash and a small thunderclap, and you were dead with a neat hole the size of your thumb in your plate. That was all. Resistance to creatures commanding such powers was hopeless. And where resistance is hopeless, courage is so rare as to lay the possessor thereof open to the charge of having a screw loose.
He tried another tack. "I should have said, your excellency, that I do not remember killing Kelly. Besides, the killing of a man is not against the higher law." (He meant hopper law.)
That seemed to stop the hopper. "No," it squeaked. "But it is inconvenient that you should have killed Kelly." It paused, as if trying to think up an excuse for making an arrest. "You lied when you said that you did not kill Kelly. And the higher law is what we say it is." A little breeze made the pines whisper. Sir Howard, chilled, felt that Death was moving among them, chuckling.
The hopper continued: "Something is wrong here. We must investigate you and your accomplice." Sir Howard, out of the corner of his eye, saw that Sally Mitten's lips were pressed together in a thin red line.
"Show me your travel permit, Man."
Sir Howard's heart seemed likely to burst his ribs at each beat. He walked over to Paul Jones and opened a pocket in the saddle stuffed with papers. He thumbed through them, and selected a tourist-agency circular advertising the virtues of the Thousand Islands. This he handed the hopper.
The creature bent over the paper. The knight's sword whirled and flashed with a wht of cloven air. There was a meaty chug.
Sir Howard leaned on his sword, waiting for the roaring in his ears to cease. He knew that he had come as near to fainting as he ever had in his life. A few feet away lay the hopper's head, the beady eyes staring blankly. The rest of the hopper lay at his feet, its limbs jerking slightly, pushing the sand up into little piles with its hands and feet. Blue- green blood spread out in a widening pool. A few pine needles gyrated slowly on its surface.
The girl's eyes were round. "What . . . what'll we do now?" she asked. It was barely more than a whisper.
"I don't know. I don't know. I never heard of anything like this before." He took his fascinated gaze away from the cadaver, to look over the dunes. "Look, there's Haas!" His blood began to run warm again. The foreigner might not be able to help much, but he'd be company.
The Westerner rode up jauntily, his chaps flapping against Queenie's flanks. He called: "Hiya, folks! Had the devil's own time gettin' rid of those lobsters, you call 'em. I had to drown—" He stopped as he saw the hopper, and gave a long whistle. "Well . . . I . . . never. Say, boy, I thought maybe you had nerve, but I never heard of nobody doing that. Maybe you'd like to try something safe, like wrassling a grizzly, or tying a knot in a piece of lightning?" He smiled uneasily.
"I had to," said Sir Howard. His composure was restored by the Westerner's awe. He'd mounted the wild stallion of revolt, and there was nothing to do but ride it with what aplomb he could muster. "He asked to see my permit, and I'd have been arrested for trade-mark infringement or something." He introduced Sally Mitten, and gave a resume of events.
"We've got to get rid of it, quickly," the girl broke in. "When they're out patrolling the way this one was, they report to their station by radio every hour or so. When this one fails to report, the others will start a search for it."
"How will they do that, miss?" asked Haas.
"They'll make a big circle around the place it last reported from, and close in, meanwhile keeping the area under observation from the air."
"Sounds sensible. From what you tell me, this one was on an official mission or something, so his buddies'll have an idea where he was about the time he got whittled. So we'll be inside the circle. How'll we get rid of him? If we just buried him—"
"They might use dogs to locate it," said the girl.
"Well, now if we could sink him in the river or something. This Hans Creek yonder ain't deep enough."
Sir Howard was frowning at one of the large-scale maps he had bought in Amsterdam the previous evening. "The Sacandaga Reservoir is over across those hills," he said, pointing north.
"No," said Sally Mitten. "We've got to get rid of its cycle, too. You couldn't get it over Maxon Ridge. I know: put it in Round Lake. That's just out of sight east of here."
"Say, miss, do you carry a map of this whole country around in your head?" inquired Haas quizzically.
"
I've lived near here most of my life. We'll put some clean sand and pine needles on the blood spots. And Sir Howard, you'll want to clean your sword blade at the first opportunity."
"Your little lady's okay, How," said Haas, dismounting. "Only she ain't so little, at that. Fall to, folks. You take his head—I mean his arms; the head comes separate. Don't get any of that blue stuff on you. In we go! It's nice these things stand up on their two wheels even when they ain't moving; it'll make it easy to push."
"Punch some holes in the lucite," said Sally Mitten. "That'll let the vehicle sink more quickly."
"Danged if she doesn't think of everything," said Haas, getting to work with his knife on the thin cowling. He grinned. "How, I'd sure like to hear the other hoppers, if they do find him, trying to figure out what happened to him. If I could understand their canary talk, that is. Say, miss, you got any ideas how to get out of this circle if they start looking before we get away? And which way had we ought to go?"
"I'll show you, Mr. Haas. I think I know how it can be done. And if you desperate characters want to hide out, come with me. I know just the place. We'll have to hurry. Oh, you didn't bring any food with you, did you? I couldn't have eaten anything a few minutes ago, but I'm hungry again, now that it is out of sight. And I imagine Sir Howard is, also."
"Danged if I didn't forget. I stopped on the way and got some hot dogs. I figured you might be kinda hollow by now." He produced a couple of Cellophane-wrapped sandwiches. "They'll be kinda dry. But for flavor you might put on a little of that blood How's got on his armor."
The girl looked at the splotches on the suit. Sir Howard, grinning, wiped some of the sticky, almost-dry redness off and put his finger in his mouth. Sally Mitten gulped, looked as though she were going to gag. But she grimly followed suit. "I'll show you humorists!" Her expression changed ludicrously. "Strawberry jam!" Haas dodged, chortling, as her fist swept past his nose.
6
"There's another flier. They're certainly doing a thorough job. Can anybody see whether they've reached the water yet?" It was Sally Mitten speaking. They lay in a clump of pines, looking across the Sacandaga Reservoir, spread out in a placid sheet before them and stretching out of sight to right and left. An early bat zigzagged blackly across the twilight. On the far side of the water, little things like ants moved about; these were hopper vehicles. One by one their lights went on.
"I wish it would get dark more quickly," the girl continued. "This stunt of ours depends on exact timing. They're almost at the water now."
"Too bad we couldn't get farther away before they started hunting," commented Haas. "We might a' got outside the circle. Say, How, suppose they do meet up with us. Who'll we be?"
Sir Howard thought. "I registered last at Albany, and gave my destination as Watertown and the Thousand Islands. Said I was going up there to fish, which I thought I was. And the hoppers will be looking for a William Scranton. So maybe I'd just better be myself."
"Maybe," said Haas. "And then, maybe you better get rid of that fake trade-mark. Or will it wash off in the reservoy? "
"No; that's a waterproof lacquer. You need alcohol to get it off."
"Well, what's wrong with that there bottle of snake-bite medicine you got in your saddle?"
"What? But that's good whiskey! Oh, very well, I suppose this is more important." Sir Howard regretfully got out the bottle. Haas found a sock in his duffel bag that was more hole than fabric, opined that it was purty near wore out, anyway, and went to work on the knight's plastron. "Say," he said, "how do you reckon you're gonna swim over half a mile in that stovepiping?"
"He isn't," said Sally Mitten. "We're going to strip."
"Wha-a-t?" The Westerner's scandalized voice rose in pitch. "You mean go swimmin' all nekkid—all three of us?"
"Certainly. You don't think we want to go running around on a cold night in wet clothes, do you? Or run into a hopper and have to explain how we got wet? "
Haas turned back to his work, clucking. "Well, I never. I never. I knowed Yanks was funny people, but I never. It just shows you. Say, miss, you sure we couldn't get away by going around the end of the reservoy?"
"Good heavens, no. They'll be thickest around there. The whole idea is that the one time when there'll be a gap in the circle will be when they reach the water on the other side, and the ones who come up on the shore will separate, half of them going around each end of the reservoir, to re-form their circle on this side. If we're in the water when that happens, and it's dark enough so they don't see us, we'll find ourselves outside the circle automatically."
"How we gonna get How's tin suit across if he don't wear it? The cayuses'll be purty well loaded down as 'tis."
"We'll make a raft. You can cut some of the little pines and tie them together with those ropes of yours."
"Guess we could at that. There, How, Your breastplate's O.K. I guess it's dark enough so they wouldn't see us moving around, huh?" He got up, took out his saber, and began lopping branches from a sapling.
The knight did likewise. "Wish I had my ax along," he said. "I didn't want to load Paul Jones down with too much junk. How big do we want this raft?"
"How heavy's your suit?"
"Forty-two pounds. Then there's my lance—we don't want that sticking up like a mast from its boot—and my sword, and all our clothes."
"Better make it four by four, with two courses."
"Hurry," said Sally Mitten. "They're at the shore now; I can see the reflection of their lights on the water."
"Who was it you drowned, Lyman?" asked Sir Howard.
"Oh that. I had the dangedest time with those fellas. They was fast, in spite of their hardware. And the little one up front, who was ordering the rest around, could ride like the devil hisself. He had a flashlight and kept it on me. I kept going until Queenie began to puff, and I seen they was still coming. So— What's that little river that runs through Broadalbin?"
"Kenneatto Creek," Sally Mitten told him.
"Well, when I got to a little bridge that goes over this Kenny . . . Kenneatto Creek—here, How, you pull tight on the end of that rope—I turned off into the water. I found a place under some trees where it was nice and dark, with the water about up to Queenie's belly. And then when these here lobsters hit the bridge I roped this little guy in the lead. He went off just as nice as you please into the creek. He was in about ten foot of water with that armor on. The only bad thing was I had to cut my good rope and leave most of it in the creek, because if I'd held it tight he might a' pulled hisself out with it, and his pals was beginning to hunt around to see why their boss went into the drink, naturally. I bought some more rope at a store on the way back to Round Lake. But I don't like it. It don't handle quite the same as a Western rope. I gotta practice up with it. And this holding a raft together won't do it no good."
"I see," said Sir Howard. "That's why the hoppers think I killed Warren Kelly. They don't know about you, but they knew I'd called at the castle—at least, that somebody calling himself William Scranton did."
"You mean I drowned the big tough guy hisself? You don't say! I guess that raft's okay now. Look, miss, we'll put it on How's saddle, and you balance it while we lead the critters."
Ten minutes later there was a metallic twang in front. Sir Howard called back softly: "It's a wire fence; looks about ten feet high. I guess we couldn't see it from up on the bluff."
"That's nice," said Haas. "We should a' remembered that folks put fences around reservoys to keep critters from going and dying in 'em. Don't suppose anybody's got any wire cutters?"
"No," hissed the knight. "We'll have to use that hunting knife of yours."
"What? Hey, you can't do that! It'll ruin the blade!"
"Can't be helped. I've spoiled the point of my dagger getting Miss Mitten's door in the castle opened, so you oughtn't to kick."
The knife was passed up, and there were low grunts in the dark from the knight as he heaved, and twang after twang as the strands gave.
"All r
ight," he whispered. "If we pull the horses' heads down we can get 'em through. Take my toothpick out of the boot, will you?"
They were through. Sir Howard said: "Come here, Lyman, and hold these wires while I twist the ends back together. No use advertising to them which way we've gone."
"Quiet," said Sally Mitten. "Sound carries over water, you know. Hurry up; the hoppers are going off toward the ends of the reservoir. I can tell by their lights." On the far shore the little needles of light were, in fact, moving off to right and left.
"Say, miss," came Haas's plaintive murmur, "can't I leave my underwear on? I'm a modest man."
"No, you can't," snapped the girl. "If you do, you'll catch pneumonia, and I'll have to nurse you. There's nothing but starlight, anyway."
"I'm c-cold," continued the Westerner. "How's gonna take all night getting that hardware off."
Sir Howard looked up from his complicated task to see two ghostly forms standing over him hugging themselves and hopping up and down to keep warm. "You go ahead and fix the ropes," he said. "I'll be ready with this in a few minutes. I have to be careful how I pile the pieces or I'm liable to lose parts of it."
The preparations were finally complete. The raft, piled with steel and garments, lay on the sand, connected to Queenie's saddle by a long rope. Another rope trailed from Paul Jones.
"All right, get!" Sir Howard slapped the gelding's rump and waded into the water. He and Sally Mitten each held the rope. Haas did likewise with the mare. The horses didn't want to swim, and had to be prodded and pulled. But they were finally in deep water, the ropes with their burdens trailing behind.
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