achines!"

"What proof, Shaman?" asked Jil-Lee. "Shall we burn down a mountain that
you may believe? This is now a matter of time."

Travis had a sudden inspiration. "You say that the 'copter is out.
Suppose we use that as a target?"

"That--that can sweep the flyer from the sky?" Menlik's disbelief was
open.

Travis wondered if he had gone too far. But they needed to rid
themselves of that spying flyer before they dared to move out into the
plain. And to use the destruction of the helicopter as an example, would
be the best proof he could give of the invincibility of the new Apache
arms.

"Under the right conditions," he replied stoutly, "yes."

"And those conditions?" Menlik demanded.

"That it must be brought within range. Say, below the level of a
neighboring peak where a man may lie in wait to fire."

Silent Apaches faced silent Mongols, and Travis had a chance to taste
what might be defeat. But the helicopter must be taken before they
advanced toward the ship and the settlement.

"And, maker of traps, how do you intend to bait this one?" Menlik's
question was an open challenge.

"You know these Reds better than we," Travis counterattacked. "How would
you bait it, Son of the Blue Wolf?"

"You say Kaydessa is leading the Reds south; we have but your word for
that," Menlik replied. "Though how it would profit you to lie on such a
matter--" He shrugged. "If you do speak the truth, then the 'copter will
circle about the foothills where they entered."

"And what would bring the pilot nosing farther in?" the Apache asked.

Menlik shrugged again. "Any manner of things. The Reds have never
ventured too far south; they are suspicious of the heights--with good
cause." His fingers, near the hilt of his tulwar, twitched. "Anything
which might suggest that their party is in difficulty would bring them
in for a closer look--"

"Say a fire, with much smoke?" Jil-Lee suggested.

Menlik spoke over his shoulder to his own party. There was a babble of
answer, two or three of the men raising their voices above those of
their companions.

"If set in the right direction, yes," the shaman conceded. "When do you
plan to move, Apaches?"

"At once!"

But they did not have wings, and the cross-country march they had to
make was a rough journey on foot. Travis' "at once" stretched into night
hours filled with scrambling over rocks, and an early morning of
preparations, with always the threat that the helicopter might n