<h2>13</h2>
<p>The rasp of something wet and rough, persistent against his cheek;
Travis tried to turn his head to avoid the contact and was answered by a
burst of pain which trailed off into a giddiness, making him fear
another move, no matter how minor. He opened his eyes and saw the
pointed ears, the outline of a coyote head between him and a dull gray
sky, was able to recognize Nalik'ideyu.</p>
<p>A wetness other than that from the coyote's tongue slid down his
forehead now. The dull clouds overhead had released the first heavy rain
Travis had experienced since their landing on Topaz. He shivered as the
chill damp of his clothes made him aware that he must have been lying
out in the full force of the downpour for some time.</p>
<p>It was a struggle to get to his knees, but Nalik'ideyu mouthed a hold on
his shirt, tugging and pulling so that somehow he crept into a hollow
beneath the branches of a tree where the spouting water was lessened to
a few pattering drops.</p>
<p>There the Apache's strength deserted him again and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157"></SPAN></span> he could only hunch
over, his bent knees against his chest, trying to endure the throbbing
misery in his head, the awful floating sensation which followed any
movement. Fighting against that, he tried to remember just what had
happened.</p>
<p>The meeting with Deklay and at least four or five others ... then the
Apache accusation of witchcraft, a serious thing in the old days. Old
days! To Deklay and his fellows, these <i>were</i> the old days! And the
threat that Deklay or some other had shouted at him—"<i>Do ne'ilka
da'</i>"—meant literally: "It won't dawn for you—death!"</p>
<p>Stones, the last thing Travis remembered were the stones. Slowly his
hands went out to explore his body. There was more than one bruised area
on his shoulders and ribs, even on his thighs. He must still have been a
target after he had fallen under the stone which had knocked him
unconscious. Stoned ... outlawed! But why? Surely Deklay's hostility
could not have swept Buck, Jil-Lee, Tsoay, even Nolan, into agreeing to
that? Now he could not think straight.</p>
<p>Travis became aware of warmth, not only of warmth and the soft touch of
a furred body by his side, but a comforting communication of mind, a
feeling he had no words to describe adequately. Nalik'ideyu was sitting
crowded against him, her nose thrust up to rest on his shoulder. She
breathed in soft puffs which stirred the loose locks of his rain-damp
hair. And now he flung one arm about her, a gesture which brought a
whisper of answering whine.</p>
<p>He was past wondering about the actions of the coyotes, only supremely
thankful for Nalik'ideyu's present companionship. And a moment later
when her mate<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158"></SPAN></span> squeezed under the low loop of a branch and joined them
in this natural wickiup, Travis held out his other hand, drew it
lovingly across Naginlta's wet hide.</p>
<p>"Now what?" he asked aloud. Deklay could only have taken such a drastic
action with the majority of the clan solidly behind him. It could well
be that this reactionary was the new chief, this act of Travis'
expulsion merely adding to Deklay's growing prestige.</p>
<p>The shivering which had begun when Travis recovered consciousness, still
shook him at intervals. Back on Terra, like all the others in the team,
he had had every inoculation known to the space physicians, including
several experimental ones. But the cold virus could still practically
immobilize a man, and this was no time to give body room to chills and
fever.</p>
<p>Catching his breath as his movements touched to life the pain in one
bruise after another, Travis peeled off his soaked clothing, rubbed his
body dry with handfuls of last year's leaves culled from the thick
carpet under him, knowing there was nothing he could do until the
whirling in his head disappeared. So he burrowed into the leaves until
only his head was uncovered, and tried to sleep, the coyotes curling up
one on either side of his nest.</p>
<p>He dreamed but later could not remember any incident from those dreams,
save a certain frustration and fear. When he awoke, again to the sound
of steady rain, it was dark. He reached out—both coyotes were gone. His
head was clearer and suddenly he knew what must be done. As soon as his
body was strong enough, he, too, would return to instincts and customs
of the past. This situation was desperate enough for him to challenge
Deklay.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>In the dark Travis frowned. He was slightly taller, and three or four
years younger than his enemy. But Deklay had the advantage in a stouter
build and longer reach. However, Travis was sure that in his present
life Deklay had never fought a duel—Apache fashion. And an Apache duel
was not a meeting anyone entered into lightly. Travis had the right to
enter the rancheria and deliver such a challenge. Then Deklay must meet
him or admit himself in the wrong. That part of it was simple.</p>
<p>But in the past such duels had just one end, a fatal one for at least
one of the fighters. If Travis took this trail, he must be prepared to
go the limit. And he didn't want to kill Deklay! There were too few of
them here on Topaz to make any loss less than a real catastrophe. While
he had no liking for Deklay, neither did he nurse any hatred. However,
he must challenge the other or remain a tribal outcast; and Travis had
no right to gamble with time and the future, not after what he had
learned in the tower. It might be his life and skill, or Deklay's,
against the blotting out of them all—and their home world into the
bargain.</p>
<p>First, he must locate the present camp of the clan. If Nolan's arguments
had counted, they would be heading south away from the pass. And to
follow would draw him farther from the tower valley. Travis' battered
face ached as he grinned bitterly. This was another time when a man
could wish he were two people, a scout on sentry duty at the valley, the
fighter heading in the opposite direction to have it out with Deklay.
But since he was merely one man he would have to gamble on time, one of
the trickiest risks of all.</p>
<p>Before dawn Nalik'ideyu returned, carrying with her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160"></SPAN></span> a bird—or at least
birds must have been somewhere in the creature's ancestry, but the
present representative of its kind had only vestigial remnants of wings,
its trailing feet and legs well developed and far more powerful.</p>
<p>Travis skinned the corpse, automatically putting aside some spine quills
to feather future arrows. Then he ate slivers of dusky meat raw,
throwing the bones to Nalik'ideyu.</p>
<p>Though he was still stiff and sore, Travis was determined to be on his
way. He tried mind contact with the coyote, picturing the Apaches,
notably Deklay, as sharply as he could by mental image. And her assent
was clear in return. She and her mate were willing to lead him to the
tribe. He gave a light sigh of relief.</p>
<p>As he slogged on through the depressing drizzle, the Apache wondered
again why the coyotes had left him before and waited in the tower
valley. What link was there between the animals of Terra and the remains
of the long-ago empire of the stars? For he was certain it was not by
chance that Nalik'ideyu and Naginlta had lingered in that misty place.
He longed to communicate with them directly, to ask questions and be
answered.</p>
<p>Without their aid, Travis would never have been able to track the clan.
The drizzle alternated with slashing bursts of rain, torrential enough
to drive the trackers to the nearest cover. Overhead the sky was either
dull bronze or night black. Even the coyotes paced nose to ground, often
making wide casts for the trail while Travis waited.</p>
<p>The rain lasted for three days and nights, filling watercourses with
rapidly rising streams. Travis could only hope that the others were
having the same difficulty<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161"></SPAN></span> traveling that he was, perhaps the more so
since they were burdened with packs. The fact that they kept on meant
that they were determined to get as far from the northern mountains as
they could.</p>
<p>On the fourth morning the bronze of the clouds slowly thinned into the
usual gold, and the sun struck across hills where mist curled like steam
from a hundred bubbling pots. Travis relaxed in the welcome warmth,
feeling his shirt dry on his shoulders. It was still a waterlogged
terrain ahead which should continue to slow the clan. He had high
expectations of catching up with them soon, and now the worst of his
bruises had faded. His muscles were limber, and he had worked out his
plan as best he could.</p>
<p>Two hours later he sat in ambush, waiting for the scout who was walking
into his hands. Under the direction of the coyotes, Travis had circled
the line of march, come in ahead of the clan. Now he needed an emissary
to state his challenge, and the fact that the scout he was about to jump
was Manulito, one of Deklay's supporters, suited Travis' purpose
perfectly. He gathered his feet under him as the other came opposite,
and sprang.</p>
<p>The rush carried Manulito off his feet and face down on the sod while
Travis made the best of his advantage and pinned the wildly fighting man
under him. Had it been one of the older braves he might not have been so
successful, but Manulito was still a boy by Apache standards.</p>
<p>"Lie still!" Travis ordered. "Listen well—so you can say to Deklay the
words of the Fox!"</p>
<p>The frenzied struggles ceased. Manulito managed to wrench his head to
the left so he could see his captor.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162"></SPAN></span> Travis loosened his grip, got to
his feet. Manulito sat up, his face darkly sullen, but he did not reach
for his knife.</p>
<p>"You will say this to Deklay: The Fox says he is a man of little sense
and less courage, preferring to throw stones rather than meet knife to
knife as does a warrior. If he thinks as a warrior, let him prove
it—his strength against my strength—after the ways of the People!"</p>
<p>Some of the sullenness left Manulito's expression. He was eager,
excited.</p>
<p>"You would duel with Deklay after the old custom?"</p>
<p>"I would. Say this to Deklay, openly so that all men may hear. Then
Deklay must also give answer openly."</p>
<p>Manulito flushed at that implication concerning his leader's courage,
and Travis knew that he would deliver the challenge openly. To keep his
hold on the clan the latter must accept it, and there would be an
audience of his people to witness the success or defeat of their new
chief and his policies.</p>
<p>As Manulito disappeared Travis summoned the coyotes, putting full effort
into getting across one message. Any tribe led by Deklay would be
hostile to the mutant animals. They must go into hiding, run free in the
wilderness if the gamble failed Travis. Now they withdrew into the
bushes but not out of reach of his mind.</p>
<p>He did not have too long to wait. First came Jil-Lee, Buck, Nolan,
Tsoay, Lupe—those who had been with him on the northern scout. Then the
others, the warriors first, the women making a half circle behind,
leaving a free space in which Deklay walked.</p>
<p>"I am the Fox," Travis stated. "And this one has named me witch and
<i>natdahe</i>, outlaw of the mountains. Therefore do I come to name names in
my turn. Hear<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163"></SPAN></span> me, People: This Deklay—he would walk among you as
<i>'izesnantan</i>, a great chief—but he does not have the <i>go'ndi</i>, the
holy power of a chief. For this Deklay is a fool, with a head filled by
nothing but his own wishes, not caring for his clan brothers. He says he
leads you into safety; I say he leads you into the worst danger any
living man can imagine—even in peyote dreams! He is one twisted in his
thoughts, and he would make you twisted also——"</p>
<p>Buck cut in sharply, hushing the murmur of the massed clan.</p>
<p>"These are bold words, Fox. Will you back them?"</p>
<p>Travis' hands were already peeling off his shirt. "I will back them," he
stated between set teeth. He had known since his awakening after the
stoning that this next move was the only one left for him to make. But
now that the testing of his action came, he could not be certain of the
outcome, of anything save that the final decision of this battle might
affect more than the fate of two men. He stripped, noting that Deklay
was doing the same.</p>
<p>Having stepped into the center of the glade, Nolan was using the point
of his knife to score a deep-ridged circle there. Naked except for his
moccasins, with only his knife in his hand, Travis took the two strides
which put him in the circle facing Deklay. He surveyed his opponent's
finely muscled body, realizing that his earlier estimate of Deklay's
probable advantages were close to the mark. In sheer strength the other
outmatched him. Whether Deklay was skillful with his knife was another
question, one which Travis would soon be able to answer.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>They circled, eyes intent upon each move, striving to weigh and measure
each other's strengths and weaknesses. Knife dueling among the
Pinda-lick-o-yi, Travis remembered, had once been an art close to
finished swordplay, with two evenly matched fighters able to engage for
a long time without seriously marking each other. But this was a far
rougher and more deadly game, with none of the niceties of such a
meeting.</p>
<p>He evaded a vicious thrust from Deklay.</p>
<p>"The bull charges," he laughed. "And the Fox snaps!" By some incredible
stroke of good fortune, the point of his weapon actually grazed Deklay's
arm, drawing a thin, red inch-long line across the skin.</p>
<p>"Charge again, bull. Feel once more the Fox's teeth!"</p>
<p>He strove to goad Deklay into a crippling loss of temper, knowing how
the other could explode into violent rage. It was dangerous, that rage,
but it could also make a man blindly careless.</p>
<p>There was an inarticulate sound from Deklay, a dusky swelling in the
man's face. He spat, as might an enraged puma, and rushed at Travis who
did not quite manage to avoid the lunge, falling back with a smarting
slash across the ribs.</p>
<p>"The bull gores!" Deklay bellowed. "Horns toss the Fox!"</p>
<p>He rushed again, elated by the sight of the trickling wound on Travis'
side. But the slighter man slipped away.</p>
<p>Travis knew he must be careful in such evasions. One foot across the
ridged circle and he was finished as much as if Deklay's blade had found
its mark. Travis tried a thrust of his own, and his foot came down hard
on a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165"></SPAN></span> sharp pebble. Through the sole of his moccasin pain shot upward,
caused him to stumble. Again the scarlet flame of a wound, down his
shoulder and forearm this time.</p>
<p>Well, there was one trick, he knew. Travis tossed the knife into the
air, caught it with his left hand. Deklay was now facing a left-handed
fighter and must adjust to that.</p>
<p>"Paw, bull, rattle your horns!" Travis cried. "The Fox still shows his
teeth!"</p>
<p>Deklay recovered from his instant of surprise. With a cry which was
indeed like the bellow of an old range bull, he rushed into grapple,
sure of his superior strength against a younger and already wounded man.</p>
<p>Travis ducked, one knee thumping the ground. He groped out with his
right hand, caught up a handful of earth, and flung it into the dusky
brown face. Again it seemed that luck was on his side. That handful
could not be as blinding as sand, but some bit of the shower landed in
Deklay's eye.</p>
<p>For a space of seconds Deklay was wide open—open for a blow which would
rip him up the middle, the blow Travis could not and would not deliver.</p>
<p>Instead, he took the offensive recklessly, springing straight for his
opponent. As the earth-grimed fingers of one hand clawed into Deklay's
face, he struck with the other, not with the point of the knife but with
its shaft. But Deklay, already only half conscious from the blow, had
his own chance. He fell to the ground, leaving his knife behind, two
inches of steel between Travis' ribs.</p>
<p>Somehow—he didn't know from where he drew that strength—Travis kept
his feet and took one step and then another, out of the circle until the
comforting brace of a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166"></SPAN></span> tree trunk was against his bare back. Was he
finished—?</p>
<p>He fought to nurse his rags of consciousness. Had he summoned Buck with
his eyes? Or had the urgency of what he had to say reached somehow from
mind to mind? The other was at his side, but Travis put out a hand to
ward him off.</p>
<p>"Towers—" He struggled to keep his wits through the pain and billowing
weakness beginning to creep through him. "Reds mustn't get to the
towers! Worse than the bomb ... end us all!"</p>
<p>He had a hazy glimpse of Nolan and Jil-Lee closing in about him. The
desire to cough tore at him, but they had to know, to believe....</p>
<p>"Reds get to the towers—everything finished. Not only here ... maybe
back home too...."</p>
<p>Did he read comprehension on Buck's face? Would Nolan and Jil-Lee and
the rest believe him? Travis could not suppress the cough any longer,
and the ripping pain which followed was the worst he had ever
experienced. But still he kept his feet, tried to make them understand.</p>
<p>"Don't let them get to the towers. Find that storehouse!"</p>
<p>Travis stood away from the tree, reached out to Buck his earth and
bloodstained hand. "I swear ... truth ... this must be done!"</p>
<p>He was going down, and he had a queer thought that once he reached the
ground everything would end, not only for him but also for his mission.
Trying to see the faces of the men about him was like attempting to
identify the people in a dream.</p>
<p>"Towers!" He had meant to shout it, but he could not even hear for
himself that last word as he fell.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167"></SPAN></span></p>
<hr />
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