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lement.

After climbing for a couple of hours, he reached a point which gave him

a panoramic view of the surrounding terrain. Orienting his map by the

sun, he was able, by careful observation of various topographical

features, to pinpoint his position with some degree of accuracy. His

hunch that the M'Calls had moved westwards was largely correct. From

their original encampment north of Laramie, they had trekked some two

hundred miles north-westwards to the eastern slopes of the Wind River

Range from where Steve now looked down towards the head of the

Sweetwater and Beaver River.

To the south, the line of the Rocky Mountains -of which the Wind River

Range was part - opened out to surround the Great Divide Basin, an arid

stretch of bare rock and sand dunes that looked as if they'd been

shipped direct from the Sahara. From his map, Steve saw that the

Rockies ran southwards through Colorado. Proceeding on the improbable

supposition that enough materials had been salvaged to allow him, with

the help of his captors, to build a hang-glider, his best bet would be

to fly from peak to peak until he was within striking distance of the

nearest way-station Pueblo, on the Arkansas River, in the southern

quarter of the state. The steep slopes would provide a plentiful

supply of up-drafts and thermals and, if he .had to come down, it would

be better to land on high ground from which he could take off again.

Steve's flight map only covered Wyoming and Colorado, plus a narrow

strip of Kansas, Nebraska and South Dakota so he could not work out how

far he was from Grand Central. He did not even know the shape or

extent of the American continent. It was not, and had never been,

Federation policy to allow Trackers access to more information than

they needed; not even Trail-Blazers. Each expedition was issued with

the cartographical data covering its specific operational-area, no

more. Houston, in fact, lay some twelve hundred miles south-east of

where he sat at that moment.

On his way back down the mountain, Steve mulled over how best to

proceed and cursed himself for leaving his quarterstaff lying somewhere

under the ferns at the back of Clearwater's hut. If it was found, it

might blow his chances of enlisting Cadillac's help. He considered

going back for it and decided it was too risky. With luck, it would

remain undiscovered. The return visit he had inwardly vowed to make to

the Mute with the blue eyes would have to be shelved. Indefinitely.

Steve's mixed-up feelings about Clearwater hadn't lessened but his near

miss with the cross-bow bolt and the subsequent chase through the woods

had been an all too sharp reminder that he was in enemy hands. So far

he had not been challenged about the incident or confronted by his

pursuers but that didn't necessarily mean he was in the clear. Mutes

didn't think the way Trackers did. There was no knowing what these

lumps might be cooking up. He had allowed the regular meals, the

good-natured discussions, and the general lack of restraint to lull him

into a false sense of security. Worse, in his thoughts about

Clearwater, he had permitted himself to indulge in the kind of fantasy

that the Mutes wallowed in all the time. Pipe dreams...

In reality, his life was balanced on a knife-edge. A knife which the

two wordsmiths were holding between them. If he stepped too far out of

line the heat being generated by the head-hunters among the M'Calls

might get too much for Mr Snow. The old guy had come up with this

great line about him being under Talisman's protection; he could just

as easily arrange for Talisman to change his mind and declare him

surplus to requirements. It could prove equally fatal to intrude into

the relationship between Cadillac and Clearwater - especially in view

of the cooperation he was about to solicit.

Steve's step lightened as he came to a firm decision. Even if it never

left the ground, building a hang-glider would provide an alternative

focus for his thoughts and energy. It would also give Cadillac's mind

something more important to latch onto than Steve's walk in the

forest.

If he and Mr Snow put their weight behind the project then his own

continued well-being was guaranteed until it was completed.

Cadillac had not reacted in any positive way when Steve had first

broached the subject but he was pretty sure that the young wordsmith

would not turn down the chance of learning to fly. At the back of

Steve's mind lurked the idea that Cadillac might - just might - break

his neck in the process. Steve banished such thoughts resolutely. The

loss of Cadillac would be a double tragedy for if the craft was wrecked

in the process it would put an end to all hopes of escape but. on the