At midday their party made camp in a grove of trees by a spring. The
weather was as unseasonably warm as it had been the day before, and
flies, brought out of cold-weather hiding, attacked the stamping horses
and crawled over Ross. He tried to keep them off with swings of his
bound hands, for their bites drew blood.
Having been tumbled from his mount, he remained fastened to a tree with
a noose about his neck while the horsemen built a fire and broiled
strips of deer meat.
It would seem that Foscar was in no hurry to get on, since after they
had eaten, the men continued to lounge at ease, some even dropping off
to sleep. When Ross counted faces he learned that Tulka and another had
both disappeared, possibly to contact and warn the aliens they were
coming.
It was midafternoon before the scouts reappeared, as unobtrusively as
they had gone. They went before Foscar with a report which brought the
chief over to Ross. "We go. Your chief waits--"
Ross raised his swollen, bitten face and made his usual protest.
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