but, with the approach of night, brink's big black ystan and his saddle-weary rider followed alone on the trail. rea's partner had not overtaken brink as he had promised.

the trail was clearcut and easy to follow—rea was letting her mount race at top speed southward along the dirt crusted ancient highway. and brink's half-tamed black stallion was endowed with stamina and speed that carby's dun mare could never match.... now, darkness had blanked out the spoor.

at a miniature park's brush-screened entrance, brink urged the weary ystan into the natural hedge of leafy growth. the big black snorted half-hearted protest and reared as branches clawed and stung him. when they were through they were in a broad grassy meadow, and in the fading light of a full moon jagged ruins stood etched against the darker trees.

he did not attempt any exploration until he had eaten of fire-warmed, greasy meat and portions of bread sopped in the frying pan. then he took a flaming branch, as thick through as his lower leg, and carried this rude torch into the ruins.

what had once been a street lay before him. jumbled walls of brick and stone marked widely separated buildings.

in all, he counted no less than forty-five mounds, when he came across an isolated squared block of stone tilted at an awkward angle and half buried. and cut into the stone was a blurred inscription.

the lettering was alien, yet somehow, achingly familiar. brink dropped to his knees to clean away the concealing sod; but the spell of concentration was broken by a racing, swelling tattoo of hoofbeats. he sprang to his feet, remembering that he had left his rifle near the fire.

the rider could be bryt carby—or it could be some, as yet undiscovered savage, native to the planet, or even rea returning in panic.

he found his rifle, stepped through the rim of bushes beside the ancient highway and waited in their shadow. the indistinct bulk of a ystan grew larger in the pale light of sulle ii's lone satellite. at first brink could see no rider; then he saw the huddled lump of darkness above the saddle. he stepped out into the road.

"rea?" he said. his rifle lifted above the horizontal, its butt at his hip.

"woa," the rider moaned faintly, and the trembling ystan came to a drooping stand.

brink reached up to the rider to help her down.

"no," rea whispered. "hide me—hide—horse. savages...."

brink grunted under his breath and tugged at the steaming ystan's bit to lead the beast off the highway. they pushed through the clawing branches, the ystan's breathing stentorian and ragged. the exhausted mount was dying on its feet.

they had scarcely reached the open meadow within, when the ystan collapsed. rea fell with him, her right leg pinned under the twitching wet hulk. as brink tugged her leg free, she groaned and went limp in his arms. only then did he feel the stickiness of half-dried blood on her tunic and discover the sharp arrowhead that projected a full two inches from the front of her left shoulderblade.

gently he whittled at the arrow's exposed shaft until the irregular metal head dropped off and then he jerked the arrow from the wound. he was glad that she was unconscious.

the distant voices of humans, shouting unintelligible phrases, warned him of the approach of the savages. the fire! with his hands he smothered and buried the flames. it was possible that the aborigines might pass them by. he could not banish the smell of smoke as he had the telltale glow of the coals, but the direction of the wind might protect them....

the stiffening loom of the ystan lay between them and the park's brushy entrance. carefully he slid his rifle up and over the saddle.

voices and the sliding, chomp-tramp of hide-shod feet came and passed on. they had missed the break in the return tracks of rea's ystan. or, perhaps, the hoofprints of brink's mount seemed to them a continuation of her spoor.

"i am awake," a small voice whispered beside him.

"are you in pain, rea?"

"not much. too near being dead for that. i'm done."

"no chance." brink's voice was flat and false. she must have lost most of her blood. "how did it happen?"

"was heading south on this highway. planned to turn east soon. to denver or some other deserted city where i might find a tube shuttle to sippi dome. you realize—this is really earth?"

"just now," brink agreed gruffly. "found a cornerstone. must have been a public building—a bank they called it. this was collrada nation, or state."

"i knew ... weeks ago. tried to tell you. so ... started alone."

she sat up suddenly, as though propelled by springs, and her good arm motioned toward the moonlit heights. she tried to say something, choked, and fell back.

there was no pulse....