much as good judgment, had kept them alive so far. Although Rick tried to weigh each move, in the end, each move was a bet where lives were wagered. Tonight he was betting that they could kill the nightstalkers.
Long before it grew dark, Rick began looking for a campsite that would favor them in the night's hunt. When they encountered a broad, level area, he decided to stop. 'We should camp away from the riverbank,' he said, 'so they'll have to approach us in the open. We'll make a tripod from the travois poles and hang the food bag below it. After dinner, we'll set the pot there and rig it as an alarm.'
'I can hardly wait,' said Joe, grinning in anticipation. 'I want the last watch.'
'Con,' said Rick, 'you take the middle shift. You and Joe should sack out early. I'm going to start dinner now.' Rick went to the food bag and took out a generous ration of food.
Joe and Rick began to erect the tripod while Con set up the tent. After the tent was up, Con retreated inside for a few minutes. When she emerged, she carried a small bundle to the river. It was a while before she returned. When she did, besides carrying her wet bundle, she dragged a large branch. 'I brought you guys a present,' she said.
'Driftwood!' said Rick as happily as if she had brought them a cake. 'Is there more?'
'This was all I saw.'
Rick brushed dried mud from the branch. Four inches in diameter and dry, it promised warmth when they needed it most. Working together, Rick, Joe, and Con were able to break it into three pieces. As Rick began to build the fire, Con used some firewood to construct a makeshift drying rack close to it. 'I'll need to dry my rags,' she said, with a mixture of annoyance and embar-rassment. The fire was the biggest they had made since the last night on the ledge. The meal they cooked upon it seemed ample to their shrunken stomachs. The hunger that gnawed at Con's insides, diminished to mere discomfort.
'I hope it's warmer by the sea,' said Joe. 'Being cold all the time is tiring.'
'It sure is,' said Con. 'I'll sleep well tonight.' Her mood had improved with the food and once she was able to remove her dried rags from sight.
'You should go to bed soon,' said Rick. 'I'll set up the alarm.'
'I will when the fire dies down,' said Con. 'I haven't been this warm in two days.' After the fire, the tent felt frigid to Con, and huddling with one person was not as warm as sleeping with two. Nevertheless, she and Joe quickly fell asleep. Rick sat at the entrance of the tent with the gun and the flashlight in his lap. Only his head protruded into the cold night. He clutched the two sides of the tent flap beneath his chin, like a buttonless overcoat. The flap provided no warmth, but it did keep out the drafts. As Rick sat, the cold en-tered and stiffened him. There was nothing to see. He probed the darkness with his ears, listening for the crunch of taloned feet in the snow and the soft clink of stones against the pot. Like Joe, Rick assumed the nightstalkers would come just before dawn. That assumption did not ease his vigilance. Fear kept him alert. He was not afraid of the animals as adversaries, but he feared the conse-quences of another successful raid. By stealing food, the nightstalkers would kill them as surely as if they tore out their throats.
There was no way to measure the passage of time. Un-counted hours of blindness passed, and still Rick did not wake Con. He wanted her to rest as long as possible. Sleep was one of the few gifts he could give her. The thought of her sleeping, oblivious to worry and suffering, filled him with tender satisfaction. Only when fatigue be-gan to overwhelm him did Rick reluctantly shake Con and whisper, 'Your watch.' Con grunted and sat up. She could see nothing and groped about until she touched Rick. They did everything by feel. Rick guided her to the tent flap, then handed her the flashlight and the gun. Before Rick settled next to Joe, he whispered, 'Don't keep too long a watch; Joe really wants his chance.'
'I'll be sure to wake him in time.'
Con felt Joe's warmth leave her back as Rick's breathing became slow and regular. Her grogginess left her. Outside were things that threatened her and those she loved. She feared them in a more primal and instinc-tive way than Rick. They were not mere thieves to her. She had sensed their lurking presence too long to think of them in impersonal terms. She felt that nightstalkers had watched her from the beginning and had drawn ever closer. Tonight, Con prepared for a confrontation that had been building for weeks. Her fingers felt the gun until they rested on the safety. She was ready for them. Like Rick, Con had no way to tell how long she stood watch. The approach of dawn was not heralded by the coming of light, but rather by the quiet sound of feet in the snow. A rush of adrenaline brought her cold-numbed body to a state of tense readiness. Con turned on the gun and switched off the safety. Her right finger gripped the firing trigger. With her left hand, she aimed the flashlight toward where she thought the tripod stood, ready to turn it on when she heard the pot clink.
The footsteps stopped and, for a moment, Con thought that she might have imagined them. Then she heard them again. They proceeded more slowly, as if the animals were suddenly aware of her presence. Con waited for the clink of the pot. It seemed forever before she heard it. She pressed the flashlight's switch.
Nothing happened. The darkness was still unbroken. The pot chinked more loudly, then she heard it fall to the ground. There was a tearing sound. Con imagined a head in the meat bag. She became aware of a second set of footsteps off to the left. An image came to her, one of the nightstalkers approaching the Hypsilophodon from different directions. A terrible insight came to her.
