ermination he
could summon. Nor did he realize what a figure he presented to the
tribesmen. A man who had crossed a curtain of fire without apparent
hurt, who appeared to wash in tongues of flame without harm, and who now
called upon fire in turn as a weapon, was no man but a demon!

The wall of people wavered and broke. Women screamed and ran; men
shouted. But no one threw a spear or struck with an ax. Ross walked on,
a man possessed, looking neither to the right or left. He was in the
camp now, stalking toward the fire burning before Foscar's tent. He did
not turn aside for that either, but holding the torch high, strode
through the heart of the flames, risking further burns for the sake of
insuring his ultimate safety.

The tribesmen melted away as he approached the last line of tents, with
the open land beyond. The horses of the herd, which had been driven to
this side to avoid the funeral pyre, were shifting nervously, the scent
of burning making them uneasy.

Once more Ross whirled the dying torch about his head. Recalling how the
aliens had sent his horse mad, he tossed it behind him into the grass
between the tents and the herd. The tinder-dry stuff caught immediately.
Now if the men tried to ride after him, they would have trouble.

Without hindrance he walked across the meadow at the same even pace,
never turning to look behind. His hands were two separate worlds of
smarting pain; his hair and eyebrows were singed, and a finger of burn
ran along the angle of his jaw. But he was free, and he did not believe
that Foscar's men would be in any haste to pursue him. Somewhere before
him lay the river, the river which ran to the sea. Ross walked on in the
sunny morning while behind him black smoke raised a dark beacon to the
sky.

Afterward he guessed that he must have been lightheaded for several
days, remembering little save the pain in his hands and the fact that it
was necessary to keep moving. Once he fell to his knees and buried both
hands in the cool, moist earth where a thread of stream trickled from a
pool. The muck seemed to draw out a little of the agony while he drank
with a fever thirst.

Ross seemed to move through a haze which lifted at intervals during
which he noted his surroundings, was able to recall a little of what lay
behind him, and to keep to the correct route. However, the gaps of time
in between were forever lost to him. He stumbled along the banks of a
river and fronted a bear fishin