were on that ridge?”
“No,” Ortis conceded. “Once we got deeper into the plateau, it went away. I don’t feel it at all right now.”
“Nor I,” Giorge said. “Angus?”
Angus looked from one to another and shook his head. “I haven’t felt anything at all. Here or on the ridge. It doesn’t mean there’s nothing watching us, though; only that we don’t feel like they are.”
“It doesn’t matter at the moment,” Ortis said. “Whatever hunts these deer hasn’t been here for at least a week, and the deer use this trail daily. If we want fresh meat, we need to conceal ourselves soon. If the deer see us, they will run.”
“It’s late enough in the day that we could make an early camp,” Hobart suggested. “While we look for a good spot, you can stick around here to see if you can get a deer. But if you see those other things—whatever they may be—you better let them be. The longer it is before they know we’re here, the better it will be for us.”
“I’ll go up the trail,” Ortis said. “If these things were hunting the deer, they had to have killed them not far from here. Deer wouldn’t be able to climb that mountain; it’s too steep. They also might have a place set up to get the deer, and if they do, I’ll find undisturbed tracks.”
“Just like the ones we’re making,” Angus said, looking at the deep impressions of the horses’ hooves on the soft, muddy ground.
Ortis frowned. “Yes,” he said. “The deer will notice them, too.”
“So will the other thing,” Hobart added. “Perhaps we shouldn’t take the time to hunt? It will slow us down.”
“Not much,” Ortis said. “You said yourself that it’s late enough to make an early camp, and if we set one up near this trail, we won’t have to hunt. We can just wait for the deer to come to us. If they show, we should be able to get one without too much trouble, and the time it takes for butchering it will be well worth it. If they don’t show up, we’re only out another hour or so of riding in this dreary weather.”
“Fair enough,” Hobart said. “We’ll see if we can find the road and make camp next to it. You can stay here and see if you can get a deer.”
“I’ll travel up the trail,” Ortis said. “I’d like to see if I can find clearer prints.”
“Keep us updated,” Hobart said. “If you get too wet and cold, come join us.”
Two of Ortis handed their reins to the third, who fell in behind Hobart while his other selves hurried north along the trail.
Angus clicked his tongue, and Gretchen fell in line behind Ortis’s steeds.
Giorge took up the rear guard, his eyes alert.
Half an hour later, they still had not rediscovered the road. Instead, they had come to a narrow, raging stream that had already topped its banks.
“There’s no sense trying to cross it tonight,” Hobart said. “It’s too high and muddy. If this drizzle stops, it should be possible to ford it tomorrow.”
“Do you think we’re north or south of the road?” Angus asked.
“South,” Hobart said at once. “If we had crossed over it again, I would have noticed.”
“Let’s go upstream, then,” Angus said. “The road probably had a bridge over it, and if it didn’t, there may be a shallower place to cross.”
Hobart nodded and guided Leslie around some bushes, keeping the sound of the rushing stream to his left as they went.
“Do we really need the deer?” Angus asked. “We still have plenty of hardtack.”
“We can always use fresh meat,” Giorge said from just behind him. “Hardtack lasts a long time, and supplementing it with fresh meat will make it last even longer.”
“How will we carry around the carcass?” Angus asked.
“After it’s dressed,” Giorge said, “it won’t take up that much room. We’ll drape it over the pack horse.”
Ortis turned in his saddle and added, “Once you’ve spent a few months in a wilderness like this, you’ll realize how important it is to keep food in reserve. That hardtack won’t taint for months, and the longer we have it the better off we’ll be. A stag will feed us for a few days, maybe even a week, before it begins to go bad in this weather, and whatever we don’t eat will be scavenged pretty quickly.”
“Are you having any luck?” Giorge asked.
“The deer trail continues north,” Ortis said. “But the other tracks are heading west. There’s no hint of a blind to ambush the deer.”
“What do their tracks look like?”
“Pretty much what I said before,” Ortis said. “They—”
Hobart had reined in Leslie at the top of a small rise and held up his arm for silence. When they got closer, they found out why: He had found the road. There was a bridge crossing over the glutted stream, and next to it was a small cluster of crudely constructed huts.
4
Just north of the bridge was a bloated pond, beside which six huts had been constructed from pine branches mixed with mud. Around them were loose clods with pine needles embedded in them. To Angus, they looked like giant, overturned bird nests. There was no indication of tools being used to build them, and parts of the outer layer were still green.
“I wonder what made those,” Angus said, making no effort to keep his voice low.
“Quiet!” Hobart hissed. “We don’t want to fight them if we don’t have to.”
Angus shrugged and lowered his voice a bit. “I don’t think there’s anything there,” he said. “There’s no smoke.”
“That means nothing,” Hobart said. “A lot of creatures can withstand the cold better than we can.”
“Do you see anything moving around down there?” Angus asked.
“They could be nocturnal,” Hobart said. “They could be sleeping.”
“I don’t think so,” Angus said. “I think Ortis was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Ortis asked.
“Your inference,” Angus began. “Are you still following the tracks?”
“Yes,” Ortis said.
“Which ones?” Angus asked.
“Both,” Ortis said. “The deer trail is still heading north, but I’ve found a spot where I can wait for them. The others are still heading west.”
“East, I should think,” Angus said.
“East?”
“Don’t talk so loud,” Hobart hissed. “Or move back.”
Angus chuckled, tried to lower his voice. “The most recent tracks are heading east, aren’t they? Then they turn south?”
After a pause, Ortis nodded.
“And they are heavier than the ones that came north?”
Ortis nodded again.
“Good,” Angus said. “Keep following that trail. I think it will end up there,” he pointed at the huts.
“How could you possibly know that?” Hobart asked.
Angus shrugged. “Unless those huts have doors on the north side, they’re being used for storage,” he said. “The pine needles are mostly old and brown, and those clumps on the ground look like something clawed them from the huts. The ones with green pine needles have been added to patch up a recent hole.”
“He may be right,” Ortis said. “I can see the huts now; this trail does lead to them.”
“I wonder what they’re keeping in them,” Giorge muttered. “It has to be valuable for them to go to this much trouble to hide them.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Hobart said. “We’re not going to disturb them.”
“Why not?” Giorge asked. “Aren’t you curious?”
“We’re going to take our horses over the bridge, ride a safe distance, and make camp.”
“Giorge is right,” Angus said. “We should find out what is inside those things. It will help us to narrow down who made them, won’t it? We’ll be able to prepare more effectively for whatever might attack us, right?”
Hobart stared for a few seconds before reluctantly nodding. “I suppose so,” he said. “But when they find out we’ve disturbed these things, they’ll probably come after us.”
“They’ll probably do that anyway,” Giorge said. “We knew the chance of that when we started across this plateau. The next time they come up here, they’ll know we’ve passed by. If they’re hostile, they’ll chase after us; if they’re not, they still might want to find out who we are and what we’re doing up here. Opening one of those things won’t change that, will it?”
“All right,” Hobart said. “We’ll investigate them after Ortis determines if there is anything lurking around over there.”
5
Ortis took his time approaching the strange-looking huts, but nothing seemed disturbed enough by his presence to attack. When the others joined him a short while later, it was clear that Angus was right about one thing: the huts didn’t have doors.
“I’ve looked around,” Ortis said. “They made a lot of a tracks heading north, but they stop not far from the pond. It's a field of some sort. I don’t recognize the plants, but they’re growing in rows as if farmers have been caring for them.”
“Oh?” Angus asked. “Can you describe the plants?”
“I’ll bring one back with me.”
“These are grain bins?” Hobart asked. “I thought they hunted deer.”
“There was no sign they killed any deer,” Ortis said. “They may have only been using the same trail.”
“I wonder what they could be,” Giorge muttered. “There aren’t very many fire-builders who don’t eat meat.”
“Just because they didn’t kill a deer here, it doesn’t mean they haven’t killed them somewhere else,” Ortis said.
“Or have cat-like features,” Angus said, frowning. He turned to Ortis and asked, “Is there anything else about the tracks that you can tell us?”
“Only a puzzle,” he said.