d the cliffs," Charl said. "The foothills of the Great
Range aren't very steep. If we could last until we get to them, we could
go on up into the Range itself."

"To the volcanoes!" Mathild protested. "But nothing can live up there,
nothing but the white fire-things. And there are the lava-flows, too,
and the choking smoke--"

"Well, we can't climb these cliffs. Honath's quite right," Alaskon said.
"And we can't climb the Basalt Steppes, either--there's nothing to eat
along them, let alone any water or cover. I don't see what else we can
do but try to get up into the foothills."

"Can't we stay here?" Mathild said plaintively.

"No," Honath said, even more gently than he had intended. Mathild's four
words were, he knew, the most dangerous words in Hell--he knew it quite
surely, because of the imprisoned creature inside him that cried out to
say "Yes" instead. "We have to get out of the country of the demons. And
maybe--just maybe--if we can cross the Great Range, we can join a tribe
that hasn't heard about our being condemned to Hell. There are supposed
to be tribes on the other side of the Range, but the cliff people would
never let our folk get through to them. That's on our side now."

"That's true," Alaskon said, brightening a little. "And from the top of
the Range, we could come _down_ into another tribe--instead of trying to
climb up into their village out of Hell. Honath, I think it might work."

"Then we'd better try to sleep right here and now," Charl said. "It
seems safe enough. If we're going to skirt the cliffs and climb those
foothills, we'll need all the strength we've got left."

Honath was about to protest, but he was suddenly too tired to care. Why
not sleep it over? And if in the night they were found and taken--well,
that would at least put an end to the struggle.

It was a cheerless and bone-damp bed to sleep in, but there was no
alternative. They curled up as best they could. Just before he was about
to drop off at last, Honath heard Mathild whimpering to herself and, on
impulse, crawled over to her and began to smooth down her fur with his
tongue. To his astonishment each separate, silky hair was loaded with
dew. Long before the girl had curled herself more tightly and her
complaints had dwindled into sleepy murmurs, Honath's thirst was
assuaged. He reminded himself to mention the method in the morning.

But when the white sun finally came up, there was no time to think of
thirst. Charl th