Mists of Dawn (74 page)

Mark
Nye
smiled
happily,
knowing
that
he
belonged at
last.
He
was
no
longer
alone.

The
next
evening,
after
sleeping
a
few
hours
in
the valley
of
the
Danequa,
Mark
and
Tlaxcan
hit
the long
trail
back
to
the
cliff.
The
rest
of
the
tribe was
busy
drying
the
meat,
and
storing
some
of
it under
the
snow
in
nature’s
icebox.
They
would
head back
for
another
load
the
next
day,
and
in
the
meantime
Mark
and
Tlaxcan
were
going
to
relieve
the
three guards
who
had
been
left
behind
with
the
dead mammoths.
Fang
trotted
along
beside
them,
and
the wolf-dog
had
now
been
tamed
to
the
extent
that
he permitted
Tlaxcan
to
pet
him
occasionally,
and
the two
actually
seemed
to
be
quite
fond
of
each
other.

Mark
still
carried
his
.45,
together
with
a
spear. Tlaxcan
had
his
bow
and
arrows
and
the
stone
knife he
was
seldom
without.
They
did
not
anticipate trouble,
but
they
were
alert
and
ready
for
anything. The
night
was
always
full
of
hidden
dangers,
and
the cold
wind
of
death
lurked
behind
every
rock
and shrub.

The
night
passed
without
incident,
however,
although
along
toward
morning
they
spotted
a
curious animal
that
instantly
reminded
Mark
of
the
one
he 
had
briefly
seen
when
he
had
first
stepped
out
of
the space-time
machine.
The
beast
looked
like
a
giant rhinoceros,
with
a
wicked
horn
on
its
snout,
but
he was
covered
by
the
same
yellowish-brown
wool
Mark had
seen
on
the
mammoths.
He
was
an
unpleasant-looking
customer,
and
Mark
noticed
that
Tlaxcan
gave him
a
wide
berth.
The
woolly
rhinoceros
did
not bother
them;
he
was
content
with
planting
himself
like a
rock
on
the
plain,
his
eyes
stating
quite
plainly
that he
would
be
a
good
animal
to
leave
alone.

All
through
the
day
Mark
and
Tlaxcan
continued on
their
way,
eating
the
dried
meat
mixed
with
berries and
sealed
by
animal
fat—called
berry
pemmican when
used
by
the
American
Indians—when
they
were hungry.
They
were
approaching
the
cliff
from
the southwest,
and
it
was
early
evening
before
they sighted
the
rocky
hills
that
surrounded
the
mammoth trap.
Mark
was
surprised
to
see
how
easily
he
could make
out
the
trail
that
had
been
left
by
the
Danequa on
their
return
trip
to
their
valley
home;
the
streaky tracks
left
by
the
heavily
loaded,
dragging
poles
in
the grass
were
plainly
visible
to
him.
He
was
sure
that
he could
have
found
his
way
to
the
cliff
without
help,
and he
was
proud
of
the
fact.
He
was
learning,
slowly
but surely.
But
there
was
much
to
learn
in
this
strange
new world
.
.
.

Nearing
the
cliff
just
as
the
sun
was
fading
in
the west,
Tlaxcan
shouted
to
warn
his
three
friends
that he
was
coming.
His
voice
echoed
hollowly
through the
hushed
silence
of
the
rocks,
but
there
was
no
reply.

“Sleeping
on
the
job,
perhaps.”
Tlaxcan
smiled.
“It’s lucky
that
Roqan
is
not
here.
He
would
skin
them alive.”

“It’s
not
like
them
to
sleep
at
a
time
like
this,”
Mark said,
a
questioning
note
in
his
voice.

Tlaxcan
looked
at
him.
“No,
it
isn’t,”
he
said
quietly, and
Mark
realized
that
he
had
feared
that
something was
wrong
from
the
first.
It
was
hard
to
get
used
to Tlaxcan’s
habit
of
speaking
lightly
no
matter
what was
on
his
mind.
It
did
not
pay
to
take
him
too
literally,
and
Mark
wondered
idly
how
many
men
and animals
had
died,
their
last
sight
a
glimpse
of
Tlaxcan, his
smile
calm
and
unruffled
even
with
death
in
his hand
.
.
.

“You
there!”
shouted
Tlaxcan.
“Where
are
you?” No
answer.

“Is
everything
all
right?” Silence.

“I
don’t
like
this,”
said
Mark,
loosening
his
.45
in its
holster
and
taking
a
fresh
grip
on
his
lance.
The cool
evening
breeze
whipped
across
the
plains,
and its
moan
was
the
only
sound
in
all
the
world.
It
was
too
still;
the
very
air
seemed
to
whisper
danger.
The two
men
moved
forward
cautiously,
Tlaxcan
slightly in
the
lead.
Tlaxcan
fitted
an
arrow
to
his
sinew-backed bow,
and
unconsciously
his
body
assumed
a
fighting crouch.
He
sniffed
the
air,
his
sensitive
nostrils
flaring wide.

As
if
guided
by
instinct,
Tlaxcan
changed
his
course a
trifle
so
as
to
mount
a
near-by
rise
in
the
land. Clearly,
he
was
uncertain
about
the
wisdom
of
following
the
well-marked
trail
too
closely
until
he
found out
exactly
what
was
going
on.
They
hurried
up
the hill,
their
light
footfalls
sounding
unnaturally
loud
in the
ominous
quiet.
Mark
thought
that
he
had
never heard
the
land
so
still;
there
was
not
the
rustle
of
an insect,
not
the
chirp
of
a
bird,
nothing.