Valentine liked the man on instinct. He thought for a moment about asking the man to come south with them. They had a spare horse, after all, and the Free Territory could always use another farmer or rancher.Gustafsen said, "I didn't get much formal education. They don't like schools. But I'm smart enough to know that men in deerskins carrying guns and staying out of sight of the roads means trouble for them. So if you boys want to come to my place, I'll share what I got with you. Maybe you need to spend a couple nights in a bed. I've got some spares. I'd appreciate the company."

"We appreciate the offer, Mr. Gustafsen. Really. But we've got to move on east," Valentine lied, just in case. "If you could spare a bag of oats for the horses, we'd be in your debt, sir.

I'd really like information about these fires, though. You seem to have your ear to the ground."

"It beats me as much as it does you, son. One old man saw some kind of airship over a fire. I don't know exactly where or when; it's a fourth-hand story. Like the old blimps you see in pictures. He said it moved around with sails. And I got a theory about where it's coming from: somewhere around Blue Mounds. They say it's death to go within five miles of there now. Whatever's happening, they got a lot of troops. The Commissary Patrols are culling stock all over this part of the state, taking good dairy stock and hogs, mostly. It's going to be a hard winter."

"Sounds like. You say this new Big Boss is in Glarus?"

"It's New Glarus on a map," Gustafsen corrected.

"We'd better avoid it," Valentine said, lying again. He had to account for the chance that Gustafsen might be going for a bra.s.s ring.

"Smart of you, son."

Two hours later, Valentine rode up to the other two Wolves, two bags of oats for the horses across the Morgan's broad back.

"It went well there?" Gonzalez asked.

"Sure. He gave me the feed, and I looked around his place. He seems a nice enough man. I didn't want him to get a look at either of you, just in case."

"Are we going to move on now?" Harper asked.

"Sort of. It seems like the Reapers have something big going on around Blue Mounds. It's about ten miles southeast of here. Good hilly country, plenty of cover. I want to ride over there and see if we can't get a look at what they're up to."

Harper nodded. "Not too much of a detour, then. Gotta ask you straight, though, Lieutenant, begging your pardon. Do you have something against getting back to the Ozarks? Got a woman in the family way, and you want to stay out of the Territory for a while or something? We could be halfway to the Mississippi by now. We're couriers, not Cats."

"If I knew a Cat in the area, I'd ask her to do it for us. But something that flies and drops firebombs is something Command will want to know about. Especially since whatever this is doesn't make noise. You've seen the little prop jobs the Kurians use on us now and then.

They're loud. We'd have heard it. And they can fly at night. Never heard of a plane or a helicopter doing that nowadays."

"Maybe they're trying to train Harpies to fly in teams or carry bombs together," Gonzalez thought out loud."Could be. Could be just about anything, Gonzo. The Kurians like dreaming up nasty surprises. But Southern Command is going to want facts. We're all this way anyway. When we get back, we might as well know what we're talking about."

"So what's next on the Lieutenant Valentine tour of southwestern Wisconsin?" Harper chuckled.

Valentine consulted his map and compa.s.s. "A short ride thataway. How's your nose this morning, Gonzalez?"

"Wishing it was smelling the masala in one of Patel's pepperpots right about now, sir. But it's working well enough."

"I hope so. We're going to need it."

You have to hand it to the Kurians, Valentine thought at midday, when they struck the line of fence posts. They know how to send a message with easy-to-understand symbols.

The Wolves sat their horses before the line of rust-colored pig iron posts. Atop each post, at ten-yard distances, a bleached human skull grinned at them. The warning line extended into the woods to either side of them, each skull facing outward in wordless warning to trespa.s.sers.

"Jesuchristo," Gonzalez whispered.

Grimly, Valentine performed some mental arithmetic. Gustafsen had said it was death to come within five miles of Blue Mounds. Thirty-odd miles of perimeter. That worked out to something like five thousand skulls. The one immediately in front of them was a child's.

Valentine dismounted, drawing his rifle from its leather sheath. "I'm going to have a look around. Sergeant Harper, I want you to stay with the animals. If you hear any shooting, try to break a record going west. Gonzalez, this is a one-man job, but I'd like to have your ears and nose along, so I'll leave it up to you."

Gonzalez removed his broad-brimmed hat and scratched the back of his neck. "Lieutenant, after I was invoked, I learned the Way from an old Wolf named Washington. Washington used to tell me, "Victor, only idiots and heroes volunteer, and you're no hero." But if I stay behind, it'll mean these skulls worked. I don't like to see anything the Reapers do work." He slid off his horse and began filling his pockets with .30-06 rifle sh.e.l.ls from a box in his saddlebag.

"Lieutenant," Harper said, "watch your step now. I can see lot of tracks just behind this picket line of theirs. I'm going to take the horses down to that ravine we crossed and wait for you. Be careful; I'm going to make cold coffee for three, and I don't want any wasted."

"Thanks, Harper. No heroics, now. You hear anything, you just leave. I haven't looked at what's in those mail bags, but it's probably more important than we are."

Valentine and Gonzalez moved slowly through the heaviest woods they could find, zigzagging toward three hilltops they could occasionally glimpse through the trees. They moved in a twenty-yard game of leapfrog: first one would advance through the woods to cover; he would squat, and the other would move up past the first. They used their noses, and when Gonzalez picked up the scent of cattle, Valentine had them alter course to catch up.

It was a warm, partly cloudy day. Occasional peeks at the sun through the c.u.mulus lightened their mood; it would inhibit any Reapers around. The cotton-fluff clouds were beginning to cl.u.s.ter and darken at their flat bases; more rain might be on the way. They found the cows, a herd of black-and-white Holsteins escaping the heat under a stand of trees bordering an open meadow.

"That's what we want," Valentine said. "I don't see a herdsman. Maybe they round them up at night."

"That's what we want?" Gonzalez whispered back. "What, you want cream for your coffee?"

"No. Let's get to the herd. Keep down in the brush."

They reached the cows, who gazed at the Wolves indifferently. The tail-swishing ma.s.s stood and lay in the shade, jaws working sideways in a steady cud-chewing rhythm. About a thousand flies per cow buzzed aimlessly back and forth.

"We need a little camouflage. The smelly kind," Valentine said, stepping into a fresh, fly- covered pile of manure. His moccasin almost disappeared into the brown ma.s.s. Gonzalez followed suit.

"Is this because of the tracks back at the fence?" Gonzalez asked.

"Yes. I saw dog prints by the hoofprints. Just in case we get tracked. The scent of the cows might confuse the dogs. Step in a few different piles, will you? Ah-ha," Valentine said, moving toward one of the standing milk factories.

The cow had raised its tail, sending forth a jet of semi-liquid feces. Valentine quickly wiped his foot in tlje body-temperature pool, then put each knee into it. "Keep an ear open, Gonzalez. It'd be great if one of them would take a leak for us."

Valentine's sharp ears picked up his scout muttering, "I don't even want to know, man, I don't even want to know."

Leaving the cows behind, but taking the smell with them, the Wolves began to move uphill, again keeping to the heaviest woods.

"So much for my nose, Val. I've heard of wolves in sheep's clothing, but this is above and beyond."

"Concentrate on your ears then," Valentine suggested.

They cut a trail at the base of the hills. Tire tracks informed him that vehicles pa.s.sed through this area, circling the hills. Farther up the slope, they could see a metal platform projecting out of the trees, still well below the crown of the hill. It looked like a guard tower, but was missing walls and a roof.

"Maybe it's still under construction," Gonzalez theorized.

They moved up the gentle, tree-dotted meadow sideways, approaching the tower from a higher elevation. After completing the half-circle, listening all the way for telltale movement, they gained the tower base.

Concrete anch.o.r.ed the four metal struts supporting the thirty-foot platform. It was built out of heavy steel I-beams and was well riveted and braced. There was no ladder going up.

It was new enough that scars in the earth from its construction were overgrown but not yet eroded away.

"What the h.e.l.l kind of a lookout post is this?" Valentine wondered. "That's a lot of steel to hold up nothing." Gonzalez knelt in the dirt beneath the structure. "Look here, sir. These tracks: small, narrow boots with heavy heels. Almost small enough for a woman."

"A Reaper?"

"That's my guess," Gonzalez said.

Valentine's spine bled electric tingles. A Reaper stands on that platform? he thought.

Watching what? Standing guard? What the h.e.l.l is so valuable that the Kurians are using Reapers as sentries?

He looked at the cross-braces. He might be able to climb it, if his fingers held out. Of course, a Hood would have no problem going up, but it presented quite a challenge to a human.

"I'm going to climb it. See if I can't get a look at the top. Maybe there's some sign of what it's used for up there."

"Sir," Gonzalez said. "I wouldn't advise that. Listen."

Valentine hardened his ears and heard thunderous hoof-beats echoing from somewhere over the hill. A lot of hoof-beats. Valentine suspected that these riders would not be scared off by the symbols carved into the b.u.t.t of his rifle.

He looked at Gonzalez, meeting his scout's alarmed eyes, and nodded.

They ran.

Trained Wolves running though heavy wood, even downhill, have to be seen to be believed.

They kept up a punishing pace through the thickest forest, a pace no horse and rider could match through this ground. They cleared fallen logs with the grace of springing deer. Their footfalls, like their breathing, sounded inhumanly light. The Wolves hunched their bodies atavistically forward, clearing low branches by fractions of an inch. The sound of the distant riders faded behind them, absorbed by hill and wood.

They reached the cow meadow, over a mile from the metal platform, in less than four minutes. Valentine altered the downhill course, and regained the wood. Still at a flat-out run, they were halfway to the line of skulls when Gonzalez was shot.

The bullet struck him in the left elbow as he brought his arm up while running. He spun, staggered, and continued running, gripping his shattered joint close to his body.

The sniper panicked at the sight of Gonzalez continuing straight for his hiding spot. He rose, a monstrous swamp-troll apparition trailing green threads like a living weeping willow. The sniper raised his rifle again with Gonzalez a scarce ten yards away.

The scout threw himself down at the shot. Valentine, a few yards behind Gonzalez, was breathing too hard to trust himself to shoot accurately. He shifted his grip to the barrel of the rifle and wound up as he dashed forward.

The long camouflage strips hanging from the Quisling's sleeves caught in his rifle's action. As he struggled with it, Valentine swung his gun baseball-bat style, using the momentum of his charge to add further force to the impact. He struck the sniper full in the stomach, emptying the man's lungs with the harsh cough of a cramping diaphragm. Valentine dropped his gun and drew his parang from its sheath on his belt. As the gasping Quisling writhed at his feet, Valentine stepped on the man's back and brought the blade down on the vulnerable back of his neck once, twice, three times. The blows felt good, sickeningly good: a release of fear and anger. The body, its head severed, twitched as the man's nervous system still reacted to the blow to the midriff.Valentine moved to Gonzalez, who now sat up, shaking and swearing in Spanish.

"Vamos!" Gonzalez said through clenched teeth. "Get to the horses. I'll catch up."

"I need a breather, bud," Valentine said, and meant it. He listened to the distant horses.

They were far off, maybe far enough.

"No, sir... I'll catch up."

"Let's get a tourniquet around your arm. I don't want you leaving a blood trail. I'm glad your legs are still working," he said, tearing a rag off the sniper's gillie suit, which served that purpose admirably. His hands flew into action with quick, precise movements, binding the wound. "Now hold this," he said, twisting a stick around the knot. "Does that arm feel as bad as it looks?"

"Worse. I think the bone's gone."

"Just hold it for now. We'll get you a sling once we get to the horses," Valentine said.

"Valentine, this is loco. Loco, sir. I can't get far like this. Maybe I can find an old bas.e.m.e.nt or something, hole up for a few days."

"No more arguing, hero. Let's go. The posse is on its way. I'll take your rifle."

They walked, then jogged toward the fence line. Each step must be agony for him, Valentine thought. They made it past the skulls and to the ravine.

Two horses waited, reins tied to a fallen branch. Valentine's Morgan had a note tucked in the saddle. Valentine uncurled it and read the soft pencil letters: "Followed orders- good luck-G.o.d bless-R.H."

Same to you, Sarge, Valentine thought. He felt lonely and helpless. But it would not do to let Gonzalez see that.

"Harper's moving west. Let's go southwest. If they have to follow two sets of tracks, maybe it'll confuse them. I'm sorry, Gonzo, but we've got to ride hard. I'll help you into the saddle."

He tightened the girths on both horses and lifted Gonzalez into his seat.

"I'll take the reins, Gonzo, you just sit and enjoy the ride."

"Enjoy. Sure," he said with a hint of a smile, or perhaps an out-of-control grimace. v They rode up and out of the ravine, Gonzalez pale with pain.

Of all the strange dei ex machinae, Valentine least expected to be rescued by a livestock truck.

Valentine, after an initial mile-eating canter across the hills, slowed out of concern for his scout. Gonzalez could not last much longer at this rate. They spotted an ill-used road, in bad shape even for this far out in the country, and moved parallel, keeping it in sight.

The pair crested a hill, resting to take a good look ahead before proceeding farther. Gonzalez sat in his saddle like a limp scarecrow tied to the stirrups.

Valentine saw a little cl.u.s.ter of farms along a road running perpendicular to their path.

Miles off to the west, a series of high bare downs marched southward. To his right, a small creek twisted and turned, moving south to where it crossed the road under a picturesque covered bridge. The bridge appeared to be in good repair, indicating the road might be in frequent use.

"Okay, Gonzo," Valentine said, turning his horse. "Not much farther now. We're going to walk the horses for a while in that stream. I want to pick us up an engine."

"Are we going to give up the horses?" Gonzalez croaked.

"Yes. You can't go on like this. By the way, do you know how to drive?"

"Maybe. I've worked a steering wheel a couple of times. You would have to shift, though.

Can't you drive?"

Valentine shrugged. "I used to play in old wrecked cars, but I don't know what the pedals do."

"Sir, let's keep to the stream for a while. Get somewhere quiet and find an old house. Lay up for a while."

"They might know by now what direction we went. We have to a.s.sume they want us, even if we didn't see anything. Remember, we killed one of theirs. They won't brush that off.

According to that old Gustafsen, they've got some manpower concentrated there, so they have the men to do a thorough search. We need to move faster than they can get organized, which won't be easy since they probably have radios. That means an engine. From the tracks Harper made, and ours, they're going to be looking for us west. If we turn east, we might get ahead of whatever containment they'll use."

Valentine hated the idea of giving up the st.u.r.dy Morgan. His horse had proved a sublime blend of speed and stamina. But the odds against them were also increasing, making a risk the only course of action giving them a chance to escape.

Gonzalez nodded tiredly, unable to argue. His scout believed in cautiousness in any maneuvers against the Reapers, discretion being the better part of survival. Gonzalez feared everything; otherwise he would not have lived so long.

The pair rode downhill. At the stream, its rock-strewn bed barely a foot deep in most places, Valentine dismounted and took both pairs of reins, leading the horses. He hoped none of the local farm children were whiling away the afternoon fishing.

They reached the covered bridge. After scouting the shaded tunnel to make sure it was unoccupied, Valentine tied the horses to a piece of driftwood and helped Gonzalez out of his saddle. The scout sank into the cool shade, asleep or unconscious within seconds of Valentine laying him down, head pillowed by his bedroll.