Why did Thorvald insist upon their going on to the seashore? To Shann’s mind his own first plan of holing up back in the eastern mountains was better. Those heights had as many hiding places as the fjord country. But Thorvald had suddenly become so set on this westward trek that he had given in. As much as he inwardly rebelled when he took them, he found himself obeying the older man’s orders. It was only when he was alone, as now, that he began to question both Thorvald’s motives and his authority.
Three sprigs of a light bush set in a triangle. Shann paused and then climbed out on the bank, shaking the water from his boots as Taggi might shake such drops from a furred limb. This was the sign they had set to mark their rendezvous point, but …
Shann whirled, drawing his stunner. The raft was a dark blob on the surface of the water some feet farther on. And now it was bobbing up and down violently. That was not the result of any normal tug of current. He heard an indignant squeal and relaxed with a little laugh. He need not have worried about the wolverines; that bait had drawn them all right. Both of them were now engaged in eating, though they had to conduct their feast on the rather shaky foundation of the makeshift transport.
They paid no attention as he waded out, pulling at the anchor cord as he went. The wind must have carried his familiar scent to them. As the water climbed to his shoulders Shann put one hand on the outmost log of the raft. One of the animals snarled a warning at being disturbed. Or had that been at him?
Shann stood where he was, listening intently. Yes, there was a splashing sound from upstream. Whoever followed his own recent trail was taking no care to keep that pursuit a secret, and the pace of the newcomer was fast enough to spell trouble.
Throgs? Tensely the Terran waited for some reaction from the wolverines. He was sure that if the aliens had followed him, both animals would give warning. Save when they had gone wild upon hearing that strange wail from the camp, they avoided meeting the enemy.
But from all sounds the animals had not stopped feeding. So the other was no beetle-head. On the other hand, why would Thorvald so advertise his coming, unless the need for speed was greater than caution? Shann drew taut the mooring cord, bringing out his knife to saw through that tough length. A figure passed the three-sprig signal, ran onto the raft.
“Lantee?” The call came in a hoarse, demanding whisper.
“Here.”
“Cut loose. We have to get out of here!”
Thorvald flung himself forward, and together the men scrambled up on the raft. The mangled carcass plunged into the water, dislodged by their efforts. But before the wolverines could follow it, the mooring vine snapped, and the river current took them. Feeling the raft sway and begin to spin, the wolverines whined, crouched in the middle of what now seemed a very frail craft.
Behind them, far away but too clear, sounded that eerie howling, topping the sigh of the night wind.
“I saw—” Thorvald gasped, pausing as if to catch full lungfuls of air to back his words, “they have a ‘hound!’ That’s what you hear.”
V
Pursuit
As the raft revolved slowly it also slipped downstream at a steadily increasing pace, for the current had them in hold. The wolverines pressed close to Shann until the musky scent of their fur, their animal warmth, enveloped him. One growled deep in its throat, perhaps in answer to that wind-borne wail.
“Hound?” Shann asked.
Beside him in the dark Thorvald was working loose one of the poles they had readied to help control the raft’s voyaging. The current carried them along, but there was a need for those lengths of sapling to fend them free from rocks and water-buried snags.
“What hound?” the younger man demanded more sharply when there came no immediate answer.
“The Throgs’ tracker. But why did they import one?” Thorvald’s puzzlement was plain in his tone. He added a moment later, with some of his usual firmness, “We may be in for bad trouble now. Use of a hound means an attempt to take prisoners—”
“Then they do not know that we are here, as Terrans, I mean?”
Thorvald seemed to be sorting out his thoughts when he replied to that. “They could have brought a hound here just on chance that they might miss one of us in the initial mop-up. Or, if they believe we are natives, they could want a specimen for study.”
“Wouldn’t they just blast down Terrans on sight?”
Shann saw the dark blot which was Thorvald’s head shake in negation.
“They might need a live Terran—badly and soon.”
“Why?”
“To operate the camp call beam.”
Shann’s momentary bewilderment vanished. He knew enough of Survey procedure to guess the reason for such a move on the part of the aliens.
“The settler transport?”
“Yes, the ship. She won’t planet here without the proper signal. And the Throgs can’t give that. If they don’t take her, their time’s run out before they have even made a start here.”
“But how could they know that the transport is nearly due? When we intercept their calls they’re pure gibberish to us. Can they read our codes?”
“The supposition is that they can’t. Only, concerning Throgs, all we know is supposition. Anyway, they do know the routine for establishing a Terran colony, and we can’t alter that procedure except in small nonessentials,” Thorvald said grimly. “If that transport doesn’t pick up the proper signal to set down here on schedule, her captain will call in the patrol escort … then exit one Throg base. But if the beetle-heads can trick the ship in and take her, then they’ll have a clear five or six more months here to consolidate their own position. After that it would take more than
