hey came from; I
was too busy trying to stuff my feet into a gopher hole under my
deadfall.

I cast around the thicket with my sense of perception and caught the
layout. Both sides were spread out, stalking forward like infantry
advancing through disputed ground. Now and then one of them would raise
his rifle and fire at some unexpected motion. This, I gathered, was more
nervousness than fighting skill because no group of telepaths and/or
perceptives would be so jittery on the trigger if they weren't basically
nervous. They should, as I did, have the absolute position of both the
enemy and their own side.

With a growing nervous sweat I dug their advances. They were avoiding my
position, trying to encircle me by making long semicircular marches,
hoping to get between me and the other side. This was a rough maneuver,
sort of like two telepaths playing chess. Both sides knew to a minute
exactly what the other had in mind, where he was, and what he was going
to do about his position. But they kept shifting, feinting and
counter-advancing, trying to gain the advantage of number or position so
that the other would be forced to retreat. It became a war of nerves; a
game of seeing who had the most guts; who could walk closer to the
muzzle of an enemy rifle without getting hit.

Their rifles were mixed; there were a couple of deer guns, a nice 35-70
Express that fired a slug slightly smaller than a panetella cigar, a few
shotguns, a carbine sports rifle that looked like it might have been a
Garand with the barrel shortened by a couple of inches, some revolvers,
one nasty-looking Colt .45 Automatic, and so on.

I shivered down in my little hideout; as soon as the shooting started in
earnest, they were going to clean out this woods but good. It was going
to be a fine barrage, with guns going off in all directions, because it
is hard to keep your head in a melee. Esper and telepathy go by the
board when shooting starts.

I still didn't know which side was which. The gang behind me were
friends of Marian Harrison; but that did not endear them to me any more
than knowing that the gang in front were from Scholar Phelps Medical
Center or some group affiliated with him. In the midst of it, I managed
to bet myself a new hat that old Scholar Phelps didn't really know what
was going on. He would be cagey enough to stay ignorant of any overt
strife or any other skullduggery that could be laid at his door.

Then on one edge of the wo