Ross kicked
it into the willows. "What do you hunt here, Lal?"
"Traders!" The voice was weak, but it held heat.
The tribesman did not try to struggle against Ross's hold, and Ross,
gripping him by the nape of the neck, moved through a screen of brush to
a hollow. Luckily there was no water cupped there, for McNeil lay in the
bottom of that dip, his arms tied tightly behind him and his ankles
lashed together with no thought for the pain of his burned leg.
CHAPTER 7
Ross whirled the rope which had been meant to bring him down around Lal.
He lashed the tribesman's arms tight to his body before he knelt to cut
loose his fellow time traveler. Lal now huddled against the far wall of
the cup, fear in every line of his small body. So apparent was this fear
that Ross felt no satisfaction at turning the tables on him. Instead he
felt increasingly uneasy.
"What is this all about?" he asked McNeil as he stripped off his bonds
and helped him up.
McNeil massaged his wrists, took a step or two, and grimaced with pain.
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