,
racing, panting stream. They disappeared around an outcrop of stone
which was merely the nearest place that would hide them. Then there was
silence.

Coburn turned his head blankly in the direction from which they had run.
He saw the mountains--incredibly stony and barren. That was all. No, not
quite--there was something far away which was subtly different in color
from the hillsides. It moved. It flowed over a hill crest, coming
plainly from somewhere beyond the mountains. It was vague in shape.
Coburn felt a momentary stirring of superstition. There simply couldn't
be anything so huge....

But there could. There was. It was a column of soldiers in uniforms that
looked dark-gray at this distance. It flowed slowly out of the mountains
like a colossal snake--some Midgard monster or river of destruction. It
moved with an awful, deliberate steadiness toward the village of Ardea.

Coburn caught his breath. Then he was running too. He was out of the
village almost before he realized it. He did not try to follow the
villagers. He might lead pursuers after them. There was a narrow defile
nearby. Tanks could hardly follow it, and it did not lead where they
would be going. He plunged into it and was instantly hidden. He pelted
on. It was a trail from somewhere, because he saw ancient
donkey-droppings on the stones, but he did not know where it led. He
simply ran to get away from the village and the soldiers who were coming
toward it.

This was Greece. They were Bulgarian soldiers. This was not war or even
invasion. This was worse--a cold-war raid. He kept running and presently
rocky cliffs overhung him on one side, a vast expanse of sky loomed to
his left. He found himself panting. He began to hope that he was
actually safe.

Then he heard a voice. It sounded vexed. Quite incredibly, it was
talking English. "But my dear young lady!" it said severely. "You simply
mustn't go on! There's the very devil of a mess turning up, and you
mustn't run into it!"

A girl's voice answered, also in English. "I'm sure--I don't know what
you're talking about!"

"I'm afraid I can't explain. But, truly, you mustn't go on to the
village!"

Coburn pushed ahead. He came upon the people who had spoken. There was a
girl riding on a donkey. She was American. Trim. Neat. Uneasy, but
reasonably self-confident. And there was a man standing by the trail,
with a slide of earth behind him and mud on his boots as if he'd slid
down somewhere very