before the log, a ring of large river stones encircled a heap of glowing charcoal embers. The setup was exactly the sort of bivouac Boy Scouts would have fashioned for a forest jamboree-a generous hearth with benches.
It was almost dark in the glade, though patches of sky glimpsed through holes in the leaf canopy still held a bit of pale pink. Kit was made to sit on the log while dry branches were broken up and tossed onto the smouldering embers of the previous fire. In no time, the glade was lit with a flame that continued to grow as more and more wood was thrown onto the pile. The older primitives busied themselves with some activity or other-huddled together as they were, Kit could not see what they were doing-but while their elders worked, the younger ones gathered around to watch Kit watch the fire.
Presently, a long green reed was produced on which was threaded strings of meat. Kit did not see what kind of animal produced these gobbets, but it was red and fresh. More of these makeshift spits appeared and were put into the fire, and soon the entire group was sitting around the ring toasting meat on thin skewers. The scent of sizzling fat and meat juice brought the water to Kit’s mouth, and though he was seated in what was surely a place of honour, everyone ignored him. Apparently, where important matters of life were concerned-such as cooking and eating-ceremony could wait.
When the first skewer was done, Big Hunter took it and bit off a healthy chunk. The others watched him as he chewed. He gave a lift of his chin and everyone else proceeded to pull their spits from the fire and commenced to eat. Rising from his place at the fire, the chief came to Kit and held the reed out to him. Kit, nodding and smiling, reached to take it; he pulled a morsel of roasted meat from the charred reed and popped it into his mouth, much to the delight of the others.
Big Hunter made a rumbling noise and took up two more uncooked skewers; one he gave to Kit, keeping the other for himself. He sat down on the log beside his guest and then, with gestures and grunts, instructed Kit in the art of cooking meat on a reed. Kit proved himself to be a ready and able student-as if he required any schooling-and his evident ability to feed himself so expertly seemed to meet with the approval of the gathering. The others murmured among themselves and, with much nudging and many a sly glance, let Kit know they were discussing him.
As grateful as he was for the food and the chance to sit and rest a little, Kit could not help feeling that his next act must be to escape. There was little hope for that, he decided, while they were all still watching him. He would have to wait until the camp was asleep to make his move.
Kit planned to return to the ley line and find a place to wait for Wilhelmina to show up-if she was not there already. If he had done that in the first place he would not be in this improbable situation now. Just thinking about how Mina was no doubt searching high and low for him, muttering dark oaths against his name-deservedly so, he had to admit-made him that much more eager to be on his way.
Then another and altogether worse thought occurred to him: maybe he had already missed her. What if she had arrived as planned, seen that he was not there, and promptly left again to search somewhere else? What then?
It did not bear thinking about-so he tried not to, but the glum thought cast him into an apprehensive and fretful mood. The meal went on for a considerable time, and at a pace that could only be described as leisurely. Kit grew increasingly anxious to be on his way. When at last the younger primitives began to drowse and fall asleep, some of the older ones picked them up and carried them into the nearby bowers. Finally, as the food disappeared, the others drifted off-most to bed down in the shelter of their leafy hovels, but a few of the young males simply curled up in the root hollows of the larger trees or on the ground near the fire ring. Big Hunter crawled into his shelter behind the log and gestured for Kit to join him. With reluctance bordering on dread, Kit acquiesced, thinking that any refusal on his part would only delay the inevitable, or worse, rouse the suspicions of his host, who might then take steps to forestall any escape.
So Kit crawled into the bower to wait. The problem was that the interior of the rude, branch-constructed hut was much more comfortable than he imagined possible. The floor was carpeted with alternating layers of moss and leaves covered by dry grass; there were even pillows-animal pelts rolled into bags and stuffed with grass and, of all things, fragrant lavender. The excitement of the day-which had begun a long time ago and far, far away-combined with a good stint of healthy exercise, served to smother Kit’s resolve. He drifted off to sleep on clouds of lavender and was soon dreaming of lambs frolicking in sun-dappled meadows.
He woke again with the sound of a whippoorwill singing in a nearby tree. Otherwise the camp was peaceful and quiet, and dawn, he guessed, still some way off. Big Hunter was sound asleep, his breathing deep and regular, so Kit gathered himself and, creeping as quietly as he could, backed from the hovel and, rather than cross the camp, slipped around the side and directly into the forest behind.
Once away from the camp, he paused; the moon was low, but there was still enough light to navigate his way without stumbling around. He listened for the river, then followed the sound until he reached the stony bank. The rounded stones appeared like humps of overgrown mushrooms, grey and white in the soft moonlight, the water gleaming all slithery and silver.
It was, Kit decided, merely a matter of retracing the route back through the valley until he reached the place where he had entered the gorge. He had a fair distance to travel, but time enough if he did not dally along the way.
He started out with a determined step and hope in his heart, his pace quick but measured. Fed and rested, his spirits high, he covered ground at a respectable rate, pausing now and again to listen for any sound of pursuit. Each time he continued with greater assurance that he had made good his escape and would reach the meeting place in reasonable time, counting on the fact that it would be morning by the time he approached the vicinity and he would recognise the turning when he saw it again in the daylight.
Assuming, that is, he lived long enough to see the light of another day.
CHAPTER 30
Ignorance may be bliss, but it is still ignorance, and Kit, hoofing through the night-dark valley, had not the slightest twinge or premonition of the danger into which he had blithely wandered. To give him a little credit, Kit saw the three black humps beside the river, but took them for stones-one large, two slightly smaller: boulders in a field of boulders strewn along the river path. It was not until an unseen fourth stone, off to his right, reared up on its hind legs that he realised his mistake.
By then he had already passed the point of no return.
It was a bear, black as an ink stain, beady little eyes glinting in the wan light of a fading moon as it swung its head left and right to pick up the human scent that had aroused it from a midnight snack of crayfish and clams. There were, as Kit now understood, four of them-a mother and three half-grown cubs. And without knowing it, he had made the most elementary error-the one transgression every schoolkid on a field trip is warned against committing in the wild: never get between a mother and her young.
Scenting him, the bear gave out a half-strangled cry of alarm as it stood motionless. A scant few-dozen paces across the field of stones, the mother bear’s massive head came up sharply in response to her bawling infant. The great dark muzzle swung first one way and then the other as the creature homed in on him, nostrils twitching. Then, rising on its hind legs, it spread its massive arms, opened its toothy maw, and loosed with a roar to shake the stars from the heavens. The raw, feral snarl of an enraged meat-eater loosened Kit’s bowels, instantly giving the animal a new and more pungent scent to follow.
The great beast shuffled forward on its hind legs-a move Kit missed because he was by then frantically searching for a tree to climb. Unfortunately, the only trees near enough to offer sufficient shelter were behind the bear that was even now gathering itself to charge. When the animal roared again, Kit was already backpedaling, making for what he imagined was the safety of the wood behind him- too far behind him.
There was no better option. He turned around and within three steps was in full arm-flapping retreat.
Kit ran with the abandon of the truly desperate, scrambling over rocks large and small, stumbling, splashing, banging his knees and shins, picking himself up and floundering on over the lumpy, treacherous ground. The bear had no such difficulty. It surged ahead with the fluid momentum of a runaway freight train, gathering pace with
