"That's not a nightstalker," said Joe.
"I'd say it's a hypsilophodontid," said Rick.
"Good eating," said Joe, turning on his gun.
"Wait till it gets to shore," said Rick. "We don't want to lose it to the river." Whether it was injured or suffering from the cold, the dinosaur moved sluggishly and unsteadily to the bank. When it reached shallow water, three nightstalkers sud-denly appeared. Whether they had been hiding by the bank or had crept up without anyone seeing them was impossible to tell. Although the carnivores were two feet shorter than the plant eater in the river and considerably lighter in build, they approached it boldly. Two circled around their prey to cut off its escape into deeper water, while the third barred its way to shore. The hypsilopho-dontid froze as the nightstalkers slowly advanced. Their attack was sudden and frantic. Using their enlarged toe claws, they slashed at their victim, which seemed inca-pable of defending itself. The wounds they inflicted ini-tially appeared minor, unlike the deep gashes of the Dromaeosauruses. Instead, the nightstalkers bloodied their prey in a rain of lesser blows until it was disem-boweled and collapsed into the water.
Joe turned to Rick. "You said they ate only little things."
"Obviously, I was wrong," Rick replied.
Con said nothing, but she shook as she relived the memory of her last night under the Tyrannosaur. Joe methodically shot the three nightstalkers. "That's our food, you little bastards." Rick and Joe waded out into the river to butcher the hypsilophodontid while Con stood guard with the gun. Rick and Joe decided to cache most of the meat in the river by wedging it under stones. Finding enough stones took time, as did finding a suitable site for the cache.
"I hope this is worth all the effort," said Rick.
"I'm so sick of nightstalker," said Joe, "it'd be worth it if it took all day!" Con had borrowed Rick's knife to slice some leg mus-cle into strips while Joe and Rick piled the last rocks on the cache. "Come and get your hypsilo-whatever," she called. "It's rude to make a lady wait for lunch."
"Start without us," Joe called back. "We're almost done." Then he said to Rick in a low voice, "I agreed on your crazy journey because of Con, but won't you recon-sider? I don't want her to suffer needlessly."
"Joe, she's souped" Rick whispered back. "She's al-ready thinner. She looks like she hasn't eaten for a week."
Joe glanced at Con and shook his head. "She does."
"Joe, I'm not fooling myself. I know our chances aren't good, but I can't think of anything better."
"I just want to take care of her. There are worse deaths than starving."
"Dying without hope is one of them," replied Rick.
Joe looked at Con sadly. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
The subject of Rick and Joe's conversation was vora-ciously devouring her second strip of raw meat when they came to eat.
"Better than nightstalker?" asked Joe.
Con, her mouth full, nodded vigorously.
After their meal, they headed out again. As they walked, Rick pondered the behavior of the nightstalkers. He did not think the attack in the river was characteristic. They didn't seem evolved to hunt large prey. Under nor-mal circumstances, I suspect they don't, he thought. They appear to be adapting their behavior to the new environ-ment. As a scientist, he found that hypothesis interesting, worthy of further study. As a guide, he found it disturb-ing. They would have to be more wary in the future. Several miles farther down the river, they spied a pale line in the hills close to the riverbank. As they ap-proached the hills, they could see that line was a stretch of low limestone cliffs. The cliffs were about a hundred yards from the swollen river, and they were cut by a se-ries of gullies and small canyons. A stream flowed from one of the latter, and they followed it into the cliff.
Within the narrow canyon, they found both trees and shelter. The small trees formed a tangled grove of coni-fers and small hardwoods that crowded the stream and extended to the canyon walls. They all appeared dead, but they were unburnt. Rick discovered shelter farther into the canyon. It consisted of a five-foot ledge. It was halfway up the cliff wall and protected by an overhang. With some difficulty, Rick was able to scale the twelve-foot wall leading to it. Standing on the ledge, Rick sur-veyed his surroundings. Before the impact, he would have considered the canyon a dismal place. Its walls screened out much of the feeble light from the dark sky. The dank vegetation that choked its floor was as brown and lifeless as the trees. Yet compared with the burnt and barren valley, the canyon was a place of bounty. The stream that flowed through it ran clear, and there was ample wood. He called down to the others watching be-low. "This is perfect! It's dry and protected enough for a fire."
"A fire?" said Joe. "How will you manage that?"
"Your guide has a trick up his sleeve."
"The real trick," said Joe, "will be climbing up to that ledge in the dark."
"We'll enlarge the holds," said Rick. "The limestone's pretty soft."
"Before you do that," said Joe, "let's go back for that meat."
"Yeah," said Con. "We'll feast tonight in our new home." For the first time since they had abandoned the plane, they did not have to carry all their possessions. These were tossed up to Rick, who stowed them safe and dry on the ledge. Taking only the gun, they made a quick journey to the meat cache. Although they were burdened with as much meat as they could carry, they hurried back quickly. All were eager to return and set up camp.
The first order of business was to store the meat out of the reach of nightstalkers. They considered hanging it from a tree, but ended up sinking it in a deep pool in the stream and covering it with rocks. That would serve until they could construct a more convenient cache. Rick found a pointed rock and began enlarging the handholds and footholds leading to the ledge. As Rick worked at his task, Joe and Con gathered firewood. By the time it grew dark, Joe and Con were able to climb to the ledge easily. They deposited a pile of wood there and also a layer of conifer boughs to serve as bedding. A few feet from the bedding and close to the back wall of the ledge, they had placed a semicircle of stones to serve as a fire-place. The woodpile lay close by. On either side of the fireplace, piles of stones held two forked branches up-right. These were to support the cooking spit.
Joe and Con watched with expectant excitement as Rick knelt before the fireplace. He pulled out his knife, then unsnapped a pouch on its sheath. From it he re-moved a light gray, rectangular stone. "It's an Arkansas stone," he explained, "for whetting the blade. But there's something else you can do with it." Rick struck the stone sharply with the back of the blade and a spark flew. Then, he bent over the fireplace, stone and knife in hand. A small mound of nightstalker down rested against a pile of dry shavings from a tree limb. Above those were twigs, then branches. Rick repeatedly struck the stone with his knife blade until a spark flew into the down. He blew gently. The down smoked and glowed red; then, a tiny yellow flame appeared. The flame spread to the shav-ings and, from there, to the twigs and branches.
Con felt a primal joy at the sight of the flames. They seemed to promise everything good—warmth, light, safety, and food. She hugged Joe, then grabbed Rick and kissed him.
Joe grinned. "You sure have a way with the ladies, Rick."