ed why he had spoken
in such a low voice, almost a whisper. That, too, was a part of the
classical pattern of fear, to make no noise. As was getting him under
the tree, an animal's instinct to hide from the eyes of the unknown.

As the four of them approached the tree, with Tom and Frank
half-carrying, half-dragging Louie--and he still trying to make his legs
behave, support him--the colonists made a fluttering movement of
uncertainty, as if to bolt, to run in panic, farther and farther back
into sheltering protection of the deep forest.

But they stood their ground, in acceptance. The seven men came together
under the protecting branches of the tree. Protection? From what?

Louie sank down gratefully, and clutched the trunk of the tree, as if,
on a high place, he feared falling.

"Sorry," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Just can't help it."

One of the colonists answered first, the tall, leather-faced,
spare-framed one. Stamped on his face was his origin, the imperishable
impression of the West Texan, grown up in a harsh land that can be made
responsive to man's needs only through strength, his will to survive
against all odds.

"It figgers," the man said in his quiet drawl. "We've all been like that
for days, maybe a week or more. Lost count. You're doin' all right.
Better than some."

Cal drew a deep breath, consciously squared his shoulders, fought off
the urge to like dejection.

"Then everybody's still alive?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, sure. Nobody's kill't. Just hidin' out in the woods, and
mostly from each other. It's a turrible thing." He looked down at
himself with a wry grimace. "Not outta shame," he added. "We've seen
naked bodies before. Just plumb scared, I guess."

To talk, to hear himself talking, and that to strangers, to tell
somebody about it, seemed to restore some confidence in himself.
Something of quiet dignity came back over him, a knowledge of
responsibility for leadership. He straightened, as if silently reminding
himself that he was a man.

"I'm Jed Dawkins," he said. "Sort of the kingpin of the colony, I reckon
you might say. Mayor of Appletree, or what was Appletree. I don't
rightly know if I'm mayor of anything now. This here is Ahmed Hussein,
and this miserable hunk o' man is Dirk Van Tassel. Manner of speakin',"
he amended. "He ain't no more miserable than the rest of us."

"I'm Calvin Gray," Cal answered. He indicated his crew. "This is Tom
Lynwood, Frank Norton, Louie LeB