"Jak already heard it," Ryan replied. "Send Dean high up, see if he can make anything."

Then he caught the noise himself, a faint thundering, definitely moving toward them. It was coming from where they believed the ville lay, which could mean they were simply going to exchange one kind of menace for another.

The pigs were ready to run, though the leading boar was reluctant to let their prey go. It took a few hesitant, menacing steps toward the oak tree, and everyone raised their blasters. Then discretion overruled its lust for blood, and it turned ponderously about and trotted off into the deep shadows of the forest, followed by the rest of the herd, vanishing within seconds.

"We could hide in the trees," J.B. suggested, "until we see what's coming."

Trader banged the butt of the Armalite angrily in the dirt. "Come on, John Dix! All those years you rode with me and you learned nothing!"

The Armorer sniffed, pushing back the fedora. "Yeah. Guess that's right. Once we get up there and they

spot us, we're dead meat. Nowhere to run."

"Right." The old man patted him on the shoulder. "Leave the women, Doc and the kid up there. They can cover us if we need it." He glanced at Ryan. "Right?"

"Yeah, Trader. Makes sense." Ryan called up to Krysty to pass on the command.

Dean's thin excited voice floated down to them. "Can see dust. Quarter mile or so. Twelve riders. No, fourteen mounted men."

"Coming along this trail?" his father shouted.

"Straight toward us, Dad."

THE HORSEMEN WORE uniforms of dark green, drab and patched. Their animals were a motley mix of elderly mares and geldings, with a couple of rangy mules. The men were armed with nothing more menacing than crossbows, though the leader had a long-barreled musket across his shoulder.

When he saw the five men standing in a loose circle beneath the big live oak, he held up his hand and halted the party. Ryan's keen eye noticed immediately that their discipline was casual to the point of sloppiness.

He held up his own hand to greet the men. "Saved us from some mutie pigs," he called. "Thank you for that."

"Herd with a giant boar? Got a broken tusk?"

"Yeah."

The man pursed his lips. "Then you were lucky, stranger. Not many folks survive a meeting with the General and his posse. Been in these woods for longer than anyone knows. Some of the brushwood folks says he can't be killed. Certainly taken a toll of life in the last years."

"Name's Ryan Cawdor. These are some of my friends."

"Only 'some' of them?" The sec man was quick. He stood in the stirrups and stared around at the trees.

"So, where's the rest of them?"

Ryan grinned. "They're close by. Heard there was a ville not far off."

"You heard right."

"Baron Weyman?"

The sharp, foxy face was becoming suspicious. "What you been hearing, outlander?"

"Nothing."

"Which way do you come in?"

"North along the coast."

"Through the yellow hot pools? I can still smell it on you. You see any brushwood people on your way inland?"

"Just the pigs."

The sec man laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Not much difference between the pigs and the brushwooders. Both of them vicious. Both smell of shit. Looking for food and shelter for a night or two?"

"Could be."

The man stared at them in silence for several long seconds. "Something about you I can't I never saw a

group of outlanders as well-weaponed as you are. Nor a group who looked more like they knew how to use the blasters."

"That against the law?" Trader snapped. "If it is, then you best tell us right here and now."

The man held up a protesting hand. "Whoa back, old-timer. Keep the hammer lifted. I'm not a stupe. I

know our bows wouldn't last us a dozen heartbeats against what you're carrying. Though, I could bet one or two of you wouldn't see another sunset if it came down to it."

"You got a name, sec man?" J.B. asked.

"Sure. Rainey. Bill Rainey." He leaned forward in the saddle, hands clasped together. "You sure you haven't seen the brushwood dogs? Man called Ditchdown with a white lightning burn in his hair?

Schickel? Bald man by the name of Straub?"

"Told you we hadn't seen anyone," Ryan repeated.

Rainey nodded slowly. "Sure. Reason I ask you so particular is that we heard a whisper here and there,

carried on the wind, you might say, that this Straub and Schickel and the rest are planning to try and topple the baron from his ville. We wouldn't much go with that."

"Would they succeed?"

Rainey's face hardened, and he straightened. "There's your business and there's our business, Cawdor.

You just crossed over the line between them."

"Sorry. Just curious."

Rainey relaxed a little at the apology. "Sure, but you know what curiosity did to the cat? How many of

you are there? And where are they?"

Ryan didn't answer for a moment. He glanced at Trader and J.B., both of whom nodded slightly. He saw that the sec man hadn't missed the exchange.

"Up the tree. There's nine of us in all. Ville able to cater for that many?"

"We can cater for anything and anyone. Baron Weyman always says to welcome outlanders unless we figure they might present a threat to him and the ville."

"Then what?" Trader asked.

Rainey grinned. "You got the look of a man who knows the answer to that question before he asks it." He

waved a hand to drive away a cloud of small gnats from near his face. "Time's passing. We have to keep on patrol."

"Looking for the brushwooders?" J.B. asked.

"For trouble. Any size and shape."

One by one, Krysty and the others climbed down from the lower branches of the leafy tree. The appearance of the women attracted the predictable leering interest from the mounted sec men, until Rainey turned and hissed something under his breath that wiped away the smiles and gestures.

But it was Dean who got the most response when he dropped to the ground.

"What are you doing here, Jamie?" Rainey shouted. "Your father'll skin us all if he" He stopped as the

boy spun to face him. "You aren't Be damned! Now I see the darker hair and the eyes. But there is one hell of a resemblance between that boy and the baron's son, Jamie. You're Cawdor's son?"

Dean nodded, blushing at finding himself the sudden center of attention.

"Not many lads of his age in this part of the country. If Baron Weyman agrees, you could meet Jamie. I

know he gets a mite lonely. What's your name?"

"Dean. Dean Cawdor."

Rainey smiled approvingly. "Could be that your son, outlander Cawdor, might be the best ville pass you

could want to give you a fine welcome." He slapped his horse on the neck. "Now, I'll ride back and warn them of strangers. Rest of my boys can finish the patrol. And you nine can walk a couple more miles due east, following this trail, and you can't miss the ville. You'll be expected."

He set spurs to his horse and rode off at a fast trot. The sec patrol, without another glance at the outlanders, moved westward in a ragged line.

Ryan looked around at his friends. "So far so good."

Chapter Twenty-One.

"Rad count's eased up into the yellow, again," J.B. observed. "Still nothing too much for us to worry about, but it looks like there might have been some hot spots around here in the long winters."