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Do-na-ti woke, as he had determined to do, the moment the first pale streak touched the eastern sky,
even though that sky was hidden from him by the cliffs among which he hid. Without pausing to chew any
more of the snake, he put the remnant and the rolled skin into his supply bag and shook the stiffness from
his limbs.
Then he climbed onto the top of the cliff, using the ravine as his stair for most of that way. Lying between
two slabs of rock, he peered down into the long valley he had left, his quick eyes searching for his
pursuers.
The sky was now filled with light, though from the northwest a line of cloud was billowing high. A spring
storm was coming, and it might well conceal his tracks, if he could find a way to hide himself from the
Long-Heads.
Do-na-ti did not tarry. Before the light had reached those dark masses of cloud, he was on his way,
running lightly through the scrubby bushes and sunflower clumps, leaping runnels and rocks as he made
his way around the long curve of heights edging the valley.
When he had to stop for rest, he again hid himself, lying flat and peering through a bush at the lowlands
where his enemies might appear. He saw a pair of lions, tawny dots in the distance that were stalking
prey of their own, raise their huge heads and stare up the long valley. That told him his own pursuers
were there, and he kept his gaze focused on the spot the lions watched.
When the tiny shapes of men came into sight, his heart sank. There had never been communication
between his kind and the Long-Heads. Those the People captured in past years had told the Elders
nothing they could understand. One, who had killed a clan leader, the Badger Clan had punished cruelly,
inventing even worse tortures than they had used in the past.
Do-na-ti could still remember the smell of scorching hair and flesh, the grim lines marking the face of the
man who was bound to the post; his skin was removed in strips and his flesh was burned before his eyes.
Even then, the captive had not spoken or even moaned. So brave was his death that the Elders of the
People ate his heart in order to share in his strength and courage.
Do-na-ti had hidden his tracks as carefully as possible when he left the valley. They would not locate his
trail easily, when they took up the chase, but he realized that they would have trackers searching the
edges of the low country.
Unless the storm came quickly, they would find some trace that he had not seen& some betraying sign.
He knew they would find where he had gone upward.
It was almost impossible to escape the Long-Heads, as some of his kind had learned with pain and
effort. Sliding backward until he was clear of the edge, he rose and ran, crouching, still following the
edges of the successive surges of cliff.
From time to time he approached the verge of the height, looking for some way in which he might leap
down to some trackless area without leaving any sign above his goal. At last he came to a sheer edge that
dropped for many man-heights.
Below that, a slope of snow-white sand stretched at a steep angle along a wide space between the rocky
crown where Do-na-ti stood and the gray ridges that formed the toes of the mesa. Those thrust
themselves into growths of juniper and pine that would provide cover, if he made it so far.
A dwarfed juniper, rooted among the cap rocks, leaned over the drop. He carefully worked his way
toward it, checking for any mark, any dislodged stone or bruised plant that might betray his passing.
Now he was far ahead of his trackers, and this buttress faced away from the valley toward an indentation
in the line of heights. No one in the valley could see him when he moved. He held onto the scratchy trunk
of the juniper and let his body slip over the edge, holding for a moment before he allowed himself to drop
into breathless space.
Do-na-ti landed feet-first in deep sand. His knees took up some of the shock; he flung himself sideways
and dug his elbows into the resisting stuff. When he got his breath, he turned and sat, examining the spot
where he had landed. Only the holes made by his feet and the mark where he had rolled showed the
impact of his landing.
Anxiously he looked up at the sky, where the black clouds now loomed almost overhead. Already a
chilly wind brushed riffles of sand into his eyes, and he nodded with satisfaction. If he could dig himself in,
rain and wind and even snow might well hide him completely.
He felt fairly secure as he dug into the sand, covering his entire body and most of his face, after
smoothing out the track where he had landed. There, wrapped in his fur blanket and comforted by the
sun warmth held by the sand, he slept, resting up for another desperate dash, if it might be needed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was a wheeling hawk that warned him that the Long-Heads were nearby. Its skree, drifting down the
wind to his ear, brought him out of sleep, though he made no motion to disturb his covering of sand.
He wondered if it had rained or snowed he had been too weary to think of that once he was hidden [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]