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returned with a hundred head of horses, four dozen long ri-
fles, several kegs of black powder, ample shot, and one prisoner. But not even
the warriors who had accompanied him knew that the cache of arms had been
planted there for him by Hannegan's men, or that the prisoner was in reality a
Texarkanan cavalry officer who would in the future advise
Mad Bear about probable Laredan tactics during the fighting to come. All
grass-eater thought was shameless, but the officer's thought could probe that
of the grass-eaters to the south. It could not probe that of Hongan Os.
Mad Bear was justifiably proud of himself as a bargainer. He had pledged
nothing but to refrain from making war upon Texarkana and to stop stealing
cattle from the eastern borders, but only as long as Hannegan furnished him
with arms and supplies. The agreement to war against
Laredo was an unspoken pledge of the fire, but it fitted Mad Bear's natural
inclinations, and there was no need for a formal pact. Alliance with one of
his enemies would permit him to deal with one foe at a time, and eventually he
might regain the grazing lands that had been encroached upon and settled by
the farmer-people during the previous century.
earth down by the dry riverbed and the other half jotting mysteriously in a
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small book. Obviously a witch, and probably not to be trusted.
Mad Bear stopped only long enough to don his ceremonial wolf robes and have a
shaman paint the totem mark on his forehead before he joined the group at the
fire.
"Be afraid!" an old warrior ceremonially wailed as the clans chief stepped
into the firelight. "Be afraid, for the Mighty One walks among his children.
Grovel, O clans, for his name is Mad Bear--a name well won, for as a youth he
did overcome without weapons a bear run mad, with his na-
ked hands did he strangle her, verily in the Northlands. . ."
Hongan Os ignored the eulogies and accepted a cup of blood from the old woman
who served the council fire. It was fresh from a butchered steer and still
warm. He drained it before turning to nod at the Easterners who watched the
brief wassail with apparent disquiet.
"Aaaah!" said the clans chief.
"Aaaah!" replied the three old people, together with one grasseater who dared
to chime in. The people stared at the grass-eater for a moment in disgust.
The insane one tried to cover his companion's blunder. "Tell me,"
said the madman when the chieftain was seated. "How is it that your peo-
ple drink no water? Do your gods object?"
"Who knows what the gods drink?" rumbled Mad Bear. "It is said that water is
for cattle and farmers, that milk is for children and blood for men. Should it
be otherwise?"
The insane one was not insulted. He studied the chief for a moment with
searching gray eyes, then nodded at one of his fellows. "That 'water for the
cattle' explains it," he said. "The everlasting drought out here. A
herdsman people would conserve what little water there is for the animals. I
was wondering if they backed it by a religious taboo."
His companion grimaced and spoke in the Texarkanan tongue.
"Water! Ye gods, why can't we drink water, Thon Taddeo? There's such a thing
as too much conformity!" He spat dryly. "Blood! Bah! It sticks in the throat.
Why can't we have one little sip of--"
your warriors could accompany our party, we would be honored.
"Why?"
Thon Taddeo paused. "Why--as guides . . ." He stopped, and sud-
denly smiled. "No, I'll be quite truthful. Some of your people disapprove of
our presence here. While your hospitality has been--"
Hongan Os threw back his head and roared with laughter. "They are afraid of
the lesser clans," he said to the old ones. "They fear being ambushed as soon
as they leave my tents. They eat grass and are afraid of a fight."
The scholar flushed slightly.
"Fear nothing, outlander!" chortled the clans chief. "Real men shall accompany
you."
Thon Taddeo inclined his head in mock gratitude.
"Tell us," said Mad Bear, "what is it you go to seek in the western
Dry Land? New places for planting fields? I can tell you there are none.
Except near a few water holes, nothing grows that even cattle will eat."
"We seek no new land," the visitor answered. "We are not all of us farmers,
you know. We are going to look for--" He paused. In the nomad speech, there
was no way to explain the purpose of the journey to the Ab-
bey of St. Leibowitz "--for the skills of an ancient sorcery."
One of the old ones, a shaman, seemed to prick up his ears. "An ancient
sorcery in the west? I know of no magicians there. Unless you mean the
dark-robed ones?"
"They are the ones."
"Ha! What magic do they have that's worth looking after? Their messengers can
be captured so easily that it is no real sport--although they do endure
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