al just before Matak
appeared. Malabanan and Sakay, worn with the night's ride, had stopped
during the noon hours to rest in the woods.

When it came time to go, Terry placed the girl on his pony, declining
another mount, as his head now ached too fiercely to withstand jolting
in the saddle. He set off in the lead, afoot, followed by the
prisoners under escort, Mercado bringing up the rear with the girl.

As they neared the ford Terry heard a sharp out-cry from one of the
guards, followed by the sharp crack of a rifle. Whirling, he saw the
brush on his right agitated by the movements of a figure that crashed
unseen through the tangle of vegetation. Two soldiers flung themselves
off their ponies and leaped in pursuit, pausing fruitlessly for sight
of the fleeing form and dashing on with trailed rifles. The aggressive
Mercado galloped up, shouting an explanatory "Sakay!" as he charged
straight into the brush.

Terry sped down the trail toward the river, emerging on the bank just
as the lithe Sakay burst from the brush. Laughing derisively at Terry
Sakay leaped toward the stream, reached the bank in four great bounds
and leaped far out from the low edge. As the bandit's powerful body
curved in the air Terry's pistol barked twice before the supple form
straightened to strike the pool in a perfect dive.

Terry leaped down the bank to cover Sakay when he should rise. Leaning
over the ledge he distinguished the white-clad figure sliding
gracefully through the dark depths with the momentum of the dive: ten
feet, twenty, thirty, then it slowed, started to rise.

But as he watched, tense ... there was a rush of a massive armored
body through the shadowed depths, a great scaly thing swirled the
limpid pool, a flash of hideous teeth--and the white form was gone.

Spellbound with the unutterable horror of what he had seen, Terry
watched the waters become quiet again, but turned away, aghast, when
bubbles rose like tiny silver globes against the jet depths. When he
turned back there were no more bubbles.

He sank down on the bank, sickened. The Macabebes had come up with
their meek prisoners and waited at the ford, restless, their eyes
fixed on the oily pool. Even Mercado was anxious to be gone.
Unaffected by the terrible fate of the bandit he had hunted, he viewed
the approach of sunset with vague concern, for this was the nearest
that he had ever been to the edge of the Hill Country.

Terry strove to rise, and at last real