from the Apache camp if he
pushed on, as he would. As to where the coyotes were, Travis had no
idea. But it was plain that he himself must remain in this encampment
for the night or risk rousing the Mongols' suspicion once more.

He ate of the stew, spearing chunks out of the pot with the point of his
knife. And it was not until he sat back, his hunger appeased, that the
shaman dropped down beside him.

"The Khatun Kaydessa says that when she was slave to the caller, you did
not feel its chains," he began.

"Those who rule you are not my overlords. The bonds they set upon your
minds do not touch me." Travis hoped that that was the truth and his
escape that morning had not been just a fluke.

"This could be, for you and I are not of one blood," Menlik agreed.
"Tell me--how did you escape your bonds?"

"The machine which held us so was broken," Travis replied with a portion
of the truth, and Menlik sucked in his breath.

"The machines, always the machines!" he cried hoarsely. "A thing which
can sit in a man's head and make him do what it will against his will;
it is demon sent! There are other machines to be broken, Apache."

"Words will not break them," Travis pointed out.

"Only a fool rides to his death without hope of striking a single blow
before he chokes on the blood in his throat," Menlik retorted. "We
cannot use bow or tulwar against weapons which flame and kill quicker
than any storm lightning! And always the mind machines can make a man
drop his knife and stand helplessly waiting for the slave collar to be
set on his neck!"

Travis asked a question of his own. "I know that they can bring a caller
part way into this mountain, for this very day I saw its effect upon the
maiden. But there are many places in the hills well set for ambushes,
and those unaffected by the machine could be waiting there. Would there
be many machines so that they could send out again and again?"

Menlik's bony hand played with his wand. Then a slow smile curved his
lips into the guise of a hunting cat's noiseless snarl.

"There is meat in that pot, Apache, rich meat, good for the filling of a
lean belly! So men whose minds the machine could not trouble--such men
to be waiting in ambush for the taking of the men who use such a
machine--yes. But here would have to be bait, very good bait for such a
trap, Lord of Wiles. Never do those others come far into the mountains.
Their flyer does not lift well here, and they do not trust