The Peter stepped back quickly, slipped, fell sideward, slid toward the cliff!

He grabbed the ankle of his companion. The Rooster kicked his face! Blood spurted from a broken nose, covered the sandled foot! Rooster pulled and jerked, trying to free his leg, but Peter held on doggedly.

"d.a.m.n you." Peter spat at his attacker. He grabbed a rock, rose to his knees, still grasping Rooster's ankle. His opponent pulled away, his eyes on the rock. Red blood flowed from Peter's torn skin and swollen nose. Peter lashed out desperately with the rock, crashing it against his companion's knee.

"d.a.m.n you, you've broken my leg!" Rooster cursed, slashed at Peter's rock hand as both slid toward the waiting cliff.

Dropping the rock Peter, too, drew a knife, slashed at Rooster's leg.

A boulder interrupted their slide. They both struggled to their feet.

"I'll see you in h.e.l.l," Rooster thrust once more with his weapon.

The blade sliced through flesh, hit bone. Peter, wounded in the left side, gasped, staggered backward.

With a grimace his burly a.s.sailant suddenly rushed forward, slashing wildly.

Peter, leaping sideward, felt the stones rolling beneath his feet.

Ground gave way, and he screamed. At the same moment he grabbed the Rooster's arm, yanked him forward.

For a moment they staggered on the edge of the precipice.

It ended quickly!

Even as they fought the ground quivered beneath their feet!

Then, with a low rumbling, the ledge on which they fought began to slide. White-faced they dropped their weapons, scrambled to reach a firm foothold.

It was to no avail!

Their frightened screams mingled with the growing roar of the falling boulders, lasted only seconds. Demo lay still, unable to rise. The screams had ceased. Now nothing else was heard save the rattle of falling stones. Dust rose from the cliffs edge, quickly blew away by a vagrant breeze.

Demo lay still. It had happened so quickly!

They had stood on the trail, talking, friends it seemed. And in moments they had turned on one another, fought! And now - they were gone.

Dead!

He shuddered.

"Ah, how my heart is beating!" He stood up. "Dead, and in but a few heartbeats of time!" He leaned on his staff, took a deep breath. "And that's what they would have done to me!"

He moved gingerly from his retreat.

He listened carefully.

"There are no more of them . . . ?" He glanced fearfully toward the ravine from which they had emerged.

There was only silence.

Slowly Demo edged up to the brink of the precipice, slowly peered downward.

Nothing could be seen save a few scattered boulders and a few dark patches lying ominously quiet.

He turned now downward, turned his back on the lonely desolation of the higher peaks. His thoughts remained with the scene that had just occurred.

Long he had heard of brigands and outlaws in the high mountains. In appearance these had looked no different than his neighbors in the valley. Yet they had destroyed each other in acts of senseless violence.

"May the G.o.ds keep me! What strange mad creatures we humans are!" he whispered to himself. He paused, leaned against the bole of a tree. He felt nauseated, weak. They were not old, certainly younger than his Mother. And now, snuffed out, gone.

He sat down, his back against the tree.

It could have just as easily been me. He took a deep breath. It was me they wanted. And they would have killed me just as quickly. A shiver ran through his body.

"Is life so very cheap?" He looked at his hands, held them in front of his face. "It can end so quickly. "

He had never thought about it. Never given death even a second thought. But now it would not leave his mind. A quick slash with a knife, a blow to the head, a fell from a crag. And it is over.

The only death he had ever know was that of his Father. And he had been quite young. It had been lonesome without him, sad.

But he had not understood how very final it was. He had always thought, in a childish way, that his Father would return.

Perhaps, strangely, even 'til now.

He hadn't thought of his Father for a long while. He knew not why, but tears welled from his eyes. For a few moments he sat beneath the tree, sobbing. Now I begin to understand. How strange, after all these years. And yet he had always missed his Father. But he had never cried before. He shook his head.

His Mother had cried. He remembered, at night, listening to her sobs. He had walked to her bed, hugged her, and she kissed him.

But he had not really understood. Now he did. How very strange.

How insensitive we are, unknowingly.

Biting his lip he rose, glanced back toward the escarpment.

With an effort he brought his thoughts once more to the hunt.

Did the deer ever think of death? Was the buck fearful, constantly watchful for the hunter? How very strange the world!

He began his descent, wide-eyed and watchful. There could be others around any tree, any boulder!

His concern was not warranted, for he met neither brigands nor wild beast. The mountain slopes were silent. As though the men had never existed, had never disturbed the peace and calm of the placid heights.

The valley he sought lay far below, tree encompa.s.sed. The downward path would be easier. Even now he walked mid patches of green gra.s.s and verdant bushes. Wild flowers bloomed, occasional berry bushes provided sustenance, and he ate, then stopped.

Here he was eating, enjoying the mountains bounty! And they!

Lying dead, who had but moments before lived and breathed as did he. How short the distance between survival and abundance. He thought again of the scene he had watched.

The thought continued to shock him. His thoughts were more often on material things, on stalking the deer, catching the fish from the streams. He shook his head, driving away dismal thoughts as he lengthened his stride toward the distant valley.

"Well, I must be careful. Mother was right. There are brigands about. My, that ankle does ache. But I promised Mother venison."

He leaned on the staff to lessen the pain.

The high mountains beckoned with promise of game. Above the domain of man the deer browsed. At times threatened by wolf or the mountain lions, they flourished still. To the hunter who dared these slopes a day without success was rare.