“Okay. I’m going to use a normal light for a while here. Make yourself comfortable while I see what I can turn up.”

  Several minutes passed while Ironbear watched Yellow-cloud’s slowly moving light as the other man studied the ground, ranging farther and farther ahead, passing from left to right and back again. Finally Yellowcloud halted. His figure straightened. He gestured for Ironbear to come along, and then he began walking.

  “Got something?” Ironbear asked, coming up beside him.

  “He’s been this way,” he answered. “See?”

  Ironbear nodded as he regarded the ground. He saw 147 nothing, but he read the recognition of signs within the other’s mind.

  “How long ago was he by here?”

  “I can’t say for sure. Doesn’t really matter, though. Come _ _ » on.

  They hiked for nearly a quarter-hour in silence before Ironbear thought to inquire, “Have you seen any signs of his pursuer?”

  “None. A few dog tracks here and there are the only other things. It couldn’t be that size, from what you told me.”

  “No. It’s got a lot more mass.”

  Yellowcloud ignored the false signs at Twin Trail Canyon and continued along the northeasterly route of the main gap.

  There was a hypnotic quality to the steady trudging, the unrolling trail of rock, puddle, mud, shrub. The cold was not as bad as it might have been with the wind softened as it was, but the numbness Ironbear began to feel was more a mental thing. The waters splashed and gurgled past. His arms swung and his feet strode in a near mechanical fashion.

  .…Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes …

  The wind seemed to be talking to him, seemed to have been talking to him for a long while, lulling words, restful within the routine of the movements.

  .…Lull, lull, lull, lull. Yes, rest, yes, rest, yest, yest, yest . …

  It was more than the wind and the rhythm, he suddenly knew. There was someone—

  Yes. Yes.

  Power. Blackness. Death. It walked at his back. The thing. The beast. It was coming.

  Yes. Yes.

  And there was nothing he could do about it. He could not even slow his pace, let alone deviate from his course. It had him completely in its power, and so deftly had it taken control of him that he had not even felt the insinuation of its presence. Until now, when it was far too late.

  Yes. Yes, son of cities. You seem different from this other one, and both of you block my way. Keep walking. I will catch up with you soon. It will not matter then.

  Ironbear tried again to turn aside, but his muscles refused to obey him. He was about to probe Yellowcloud’s mind to see whether the other man had yet become aware of his condition. He held back, however. The creature somewhere to the rear was exerting a form of telepathic control over his nervous system. He could not tell whether it was also reading his thoughts. Perhaps. Perhaps not. He wanted to keep his own telepathic ability away from its awareness if he possibly could. Why, he was not certain. But he felt—

  He heard a sound to the rear. A dislodged stone turning over, it seemed. He knew that if he did not break free in a few moments nothing that he felt would matter anymore. It would all be over for him. Everything. The beast Singer called Cat was almost upon him.

  His feet continued their slow, steady movements. He tried to visualize Cat, but he could not. A malevolent shadow with sinuous movements…a large eye drifting like a moon…The images came and departed. None seemed adequate for the approaching beast—powerful, fearless…

  Fearless?

  An image leaped to mind, a question keeping it company: How strong a mental impression could he project? Fisher could create solid-seeming illusions with ease. Could he manage with a fraction of that verisimilitude if he backed it with everything he had? Perhaps just enough to disconcert?

  There was no real pause, though, between the idea and the effort. The speculation ran simultaneous with the attempt, habit of the reflective part of himself.

  The sandy stretch across which he had just passed…He projected the image of its eruption, with the shining triangular form bursting upward, lunging forward, reaching to embrace his pursuer…

  Krel! Krel! he sent, concentrating to achieve perfection in its display.

  He halted, feeling the panic waves from behind him, aware of controlling his own movements once more, aware, too, that Yellowcloud had halted.

  Krel! But even as he reinforced the image with every feeling of menace and terror with which he found himself freshly familiar, even as he unslung the burst-gun and fitted his hand to its grip, he realized that while his movements were now his own he was afraid to execute the necessary turn to face the thing which stood behind him.

  The report of Yellowcloud’s weapon shattered his paralysis. He spun about, the burst-gun at ready.

  Cat, in the light of Yellowcloud’s beam, was dropping to 149 the ground from an erect posture, and that awful eye seemed fixed upon his own, burning, boring.

  He triggered his weapon, moving it, and dirt and gravel blew backward from a line traced on the ground in front of the beast.

  Yellowcloud fired again and Cat jerked as he plunged forward. Ironbear raised the muzzle of his own weapon and triggered another burst. It stitched a wavering line along Cat’s neck and shoulder.

  And then everything went silent and black as he felt the impact of Cat’s body upon his own.

  * * *

  They sat or lay in their rooms at the Thunderbird Lodge, not far from the mouths of the canyons. It was as if they were all together in one room, however, for the walls did not impede their conversation.

  Well? Elizabeth asked. What have you learned?

  I’m going to try again, Fisher answered. Wait a few minutes.

  You’ve been at it for quite a while, Mancin said.

  Sometimes there are snags—unusual states of mind that are hard to pick up. You know.

  Something’s wrong, Mancin said. I’ve been trying, too.

  Maybe we’re too latet Mercy put in.

  Don’t be ridiculous!

  I’m just trying to be realistic.

  I got through to Yellowcloud’s house while you were trying for contact, Elizabeth said. His wife told me that he and Ironbear left together some time ago. They went over to the canyon, she said.

  After Singer? Mancin asked.

  She wouldn’t say any more about it. But why else?

  Indeed.

  I’m going to try again now, Fisher said.

  Wait, Elizabeth told him.

  Why?

  You’re not getting anywhere by yourself.

  You mean we should get together again and try?

  Why not? That is why we’re here. To work together.

  Do you think Sands…? Mancin began.

  Probably, Elizabeth said.

  Yes, Mercy said. But he wouldn’t hurt us.

  Well, you’re right about why we’re heret Mancin said to Elizabeth.

  And if we can’t locate Jimmy? Fisher said. What then?

  Try again with Singer, Elizabeth said. Perhaps this time he’ll listen.

  * * *

  Now you travel your own trail, alone.

  What you have become, we do not know.

  What your clan is now, we do not know.

  Now, now on, now, you are something not of this world.

  * * *

  Walking. Through the silver and black landscape. Slow here. Confuse the way. As if for an ambush from behind those rocks. Erase the next hundred feet or so with a branch of shrubbery. Good. Go on. The way is clear. Vaguely red-and-white flecked. Walking. Skyflash mirrored in waters twisting. Faint drumbeat once again. Consistency of wind-sound within the slant of walls. Small spray glassmasking face here, eyelash prisms spectrumbreaking rainbows geometric dance of lights. Wipe. Shadows leapback. Coyotedog smile fading between the light and the dark. Cross here, splashing. Wherever trail runs follow the feet. Around. Over. Masked dancers within the shadows, silent. Far, far to the rear, a faint green light. Why look back? To turn is to embrace. Climb now. Descend again. It narrows soon, then widens again. A thing with many eyes sits upon a high ledge but does not stir. Frozen, perhaps, or only watching. Louder now the drumbeat. Moving to its rhythms. Fire within the heart of a stone. Rain yei bending, bridgelike, from above to below. Birdtracks behind a mooncurved wall. Thighbone of horse. Empty hogan. Half-burned log. Touch the mica that glistens like pollen. Remember the song the old man—

  .…Singer.

  Faint, faint. The wind or its echo. Tired word of tired breath.

  Billy Blackhorse . …

  Across again now, to that rocky place.

  I feel you—up there, somewhere—tracker …

  Something. Something he should remember. This journey. To follow his trail. But.

  Your friends did not stop me. I am still coming, hunter.

  Ghost of the echo of the wind. Words in his head. Old friends, perhaps. Someone known.

  Why do you not answer me? To talk gives nothing away.

  Ghost-cat, chindi-thing. Yes. Cat.

  I am here, Cat.

  And I follow you.

  I know.

  It is a good place you have chosen.

  It chose me.

  Either way. Better than cities.

  Billy paused to muddle his trail, create the impression of another possible ambush point.

  .…Coming. You cannot run forever.

  Only so far as I must. You are hurt…

  Yes. But not enough to stop me. We will meet.

  We will.

  I feel you are stronger here than you were before.

  Perhaps.

  Whichever of us wins, it is better this way than any other. We are each of us the last of our kind. What else is there for us?

  I do not know.

  It is a strange country. I do not understand everything about it.

  Nor do I.

  Soon we will meet, old enemy. Are you glad that you ran?

  Billy tried hard to think about it.

  Yes, he finally said.

  Billy thought of the song but knew that it was not the time to sing it. Thunder mumbled down the canyon.

  You have changed, hunter, since last we were this close.

  I know where I*m going now, Cat.

  Hurry then. I may be closer than you think.

  Watch the shadows. You may even be nearer than you think.

  Silence. The big widening and a clear view far ahead. He halted, puzzled, suddenly able to see for a great distance. Like a ribbon, his trail led on and on and then wound upward. He did not understand, but it did not matter. He broke into his ground-eating jog. In the darkness high overhead, he heard the cry of a bird.

  Farther yet, he returns with me, Nayenezgani,

  spinning his dark stafffor protection.

  The lightnings flash behind him and before him.

  To the ladder’s first rung,

  to the Emergence Place

  he returns with me;

  and the rainbow returns with me

  and the talking ketahn teaches me.

  We mount the ladder’s twelve rungs.

  Small blue birds sing above me,

  Cornbeetle sings behind me.

  Hashje-altye returns with me.

  I will climb Emergence Mountain,

  Chief Mountain, Rain Mountain,

  Corn Mountain, Pollen Mountain…

  Returning. Upon the pollen figure to sit.

  To own the home, the fire, the food,

  the resting place, the feet, the legs, the body,

  to hold the mind and the voice, the power

  of movement. The speech, that is blessed.

  Returning with me. Gathering these things,

  Climbing. Through the mists and clouds,

  the mosses and grasses,

  the woods and rocks, the earth,

  of the four colors. Returning.

  ”Grandchild, we stand upon the rainbow.”

  Running. The wind and water-sounds now a part of the drumbeat. Path grown clearer and clearer. Blood-red now and dusted as with ice flakes.

  The ground seemed to shake once, and something like a tower of smoke rose before him in a twisting at the side of the trail. Changing colors, the pillar braided itself as it climbed, and five shifting faces took form within it. He recognized his guardian spirits.

  “Billy, we have come to ask you again,” they said in a single voice. “The danger increases. You must leave the trail, leave the canyon. Quickly. You must go to a place where you will be met and taken to safety.”

  “I cannot leave the trail now,” he answered. “It is too late to do that. My enemy approaches. My way is clear before me. Thank you again. There is no longer a choice for me in this.”

  “There is always a choice.”

  “Then I have already made it.”

  The smoke-being blew apart as he passed it.

  He saw what appeared to be the end of the trail now, and a small atavistic fear touched him as he realized where it would take him. It was to the Mummy Cave, an old place of the dead, that it ran, high up the canyon wall.

  As he advanced, it seemed to grow before him, a ruin within a high alcove. A green light played behind one of the windows for an eyeblink and a half. And then the wind was muffled, and then it rose again. And again. Again.

  Now the sound came like the flapping of a giant piece of canvas high in the sky. He kept his eyes upon his goal and continued to follow his trail toward the foot of the wall. And as he ran the sound grew louder, felt nearer. Finally it seemed directly overhead, and he sensed each beat upon his body. Then a dark shape moved past, through the upper air.

  When he raised his eyes he beheld an enormous bird-form dipping to settle atop the cliff wall high above the place of the Mummy Cave. He slowed as he neared the foot of the wall and encountered the talus slope. And he knew as he beheld the dark thing, settling now and staring downward, that he beheld Haasch’eeshzhini, Black-god, master of the hunt. He looked away quickly, but not before he met the merciless stare of a yellow eye fixed upon him.

  Must I end this thing beneath your gaze, Dark One? he wondered. For I am both the hunter and the hunted. Which side does that put you on?

  He mounted the slope, his eyes now following the trail gone vertical up toward the recessed ruin. Yes, that did seem the easiest route…

  He approached the wall, took the first foothold and handhold and commenced climbing.

  Climbing. Slowly over the more slippery places. A strange tingling in the palms of the hands as he mounted higher. Like the time—

  No. He halted. Everything he was was a part of the hunt. But it was also a part of the past. Let it go. Climb. Hunt. Position is what is important. That lesson comes with memory. Achieve it now. He drew himself higher, not looking at the dark shadow far above, not looking back. Soon.

  Soon he would enter the place of death and await his pursuer. The running should be nearing its end. Hurry.

  Important to be up there and out of sight when Cat enters the area. Wet handhold. Grip tightly.

  Glance upward. Yes. In sight now. Soon. Careful. Pull. There.

  After several minutes, he drew himself up onto a ledge, moved to the left. Another hold. Up again.

  Half crawling. Okay now. Rise again. Move toward the wall. Enter. No green light. Over the wall…

  He passed along the rear of the wall, peering through gaps out over the floor of the canyon. Nothing. Nothing yet in sight. Keep going. That large opening…

  All right. Halt. Unsling the weapon. Check it out. Rest it on the ledge. Wait.

  Nothing. Still nothing. The place was damp and filled with rubble. He ran his eyes across the open spaces before him, the entire prospect palely illuminated through screens of phosphorescent mist. But waiting was a thing at which he excelled. He settled with his back against a block of stone, his eyes upon the canyon, one hand upon the weapon.

  Nearly an hour passed with no changes in the scene before him.

  And then a shadow, slow, inching along the wall, far to his left and ahead. Its creeping barely registered, until at some point he realized that there was nothing to cast it.

  He raised the weapon—it had a simple sight—and zeroed it in on the shadow. Then he thought about the accuracy of the thing and lowered it again. Too far. If the shadow were really Cat he did not want to take a chance on missing and giving away his position.

  It stopped. It flowed into the form of a rock and remained stationary for a long while. He could almost believe that the entire sequence had been a trick of light and shadow. Almost. He drew a bead on the rock and held it there.

  You are somewhere near, Billy. I can feel you.

  He did not respond.

  Wherever you are, I will be there shortly.

  Should he risk a shot after all? he wondered. It would take Cat a while to assume a more mobile shape. He would doubtless have several opportunities during that time…

  Movement again. The rock shifted, flowed, reformed farther along the wall.

  Suffer, tracker. You are going to die. Your first shot will betray you and I will dodge all of the successive ones. You will see me when I am ready to be seen and you will fire it then.

  The movement commenced again, drifting toward a real rock beneath a shelflike overhang. Within the amorphous form the glittering of Cat’s eye became visible; his limbs began to take form.

  Billy bit his lip, recalling having seen a torglind meta-morph run up a near-vertical wall on the home planet. He triggered the weapon then and missed.

  Cat froze for a split second as the flash occurred high overhead, then moved more slowly than Billy had anticipated, leading Billy to believe that the beast was indeed injured. Cat sprang back toward a line of stones nearer the wall. And then, realizing his mistake as he glanced upward, his legs bunched beneath him and he sprang forward again. But not in time.