A homely clatter of dishes brought him to full consciousness. He staggered to the kitchen where Pat was busy washing dishes.
'Morning, he mumbled, clearing his throat before he asked, Todd gone already?
Yes, indeed, sleepy head, Pat assured him, pouring out coffee.
Oh, I wanted to talk to him.
You'd've had to get up very early then, dear. He was out and gone before I was awake. I let you sleep because you were so restless last night. That's the first time that old nightmare has bothered you since I got here.
Ken's agreement was lost against his cup. Pat laughed and combed her fingers tenderly through his hair. She massaged his neck and shoulders briefly, laughingly evading his encircling arms to return to her stove.
"I tried out a recipe on Ilsa this morning,. It's called pancakes. The old film suggests serving them with 'butter and maple syrup.' "She laughed as she stuttered over the phrase. "I had to look that up in the dictionary. We've been getting butter from the cows, of course, but 'Syrup was made from sap drawn from the sugar maple. Ilsa thought it might be comparable to rla but I doubt it."
Ken did too.
So, Pat rambled on, we used some of that sweetened berry sauce Mrrva sent over with Todd the other day and the pancakes are heavenly.
Ken listened passively, sipping the hot reviving coffee as he watched his wife moving around the kitchen area. He had never seen her move with such a bounce nor her face so open and contented.
Pat, you are happy? he asked, interrupting her in midsentence.
She stopped and stared at him a moment. her cooking utensil poised over the pan. She blinked in the fashion she had when the focus of her thoughts was shifted abruptly.
Yes, she said definitely. Yes, Ken, I am happy just as long as I don't think beyond the immediate task, beyond the day. I had never truly realized how empty and useless I was until I got here and started 'doing' things, not just programming machines to work for me. Oh, I guess it's all right for most women. She grinned maliciously. Lord, one complained about the noises the machines made and having to wait days for repairmen and all that. But here, no waiting, I do it. No noise, except what I make. No crowds. No crowding, she added fervently. It's freeing. It's . . .
". . . burning," Ken put in drily, nodding to the stove.
Oh, damn, she said, whirling to rescue the burning pancakes.
No sooner had she started another batch than Bill Moody came racing to the door, catching himself against the post to get enough breath to gasp out his message.
Mr. Adjei wants you at the corral on the run. Trouble.
Without further explanation, he disappeared. Ken was halfway to the door before Pat's gurgling laugh reminded him he was still in pajamas. She grabbed clean coveralls from the washbasket and threw them at him. Hopping from one foot to the other, he crammed his pajama-clad legs into the coverall pants and stamped his feet into boots.
At the barn, Ben Hrrula, Vic Solinari and McKee were already mounted as Ken swung up on Socks.
Something has stampeded the urfa, Ken, Ben shouted the nature of the crisis. They're making for the grainfields. Hrrula saw them from Saddle Ridge. The horses'll have to have that grain to live out a Doona winter. We've got to save it.
Infected by their riders' excitement, the horses started moving out of the stable yard at a nervous trot.
We'll have to head off the leaders. With that, Ben kicked his horse into a gallop. Ken gritted his teeth as his mare, momentarily possessed of five legs took her own sweet time settling into the easier gait.
Solinari, grim-faced, swung ahead of Ken, one hand, on his saddle horn as he, too, tried to keep in the saddle. Ken, having only a little more experience than Vic, envied Ben and McKee their hip-loose conformation to the plunging motion. Hrrula, grinning from ear to ear in sheer delight, seemed to the saddle born, clinging like a vine to the back of his mare.
As the party passed Dautrish on the power sled, Ben shouted his warning and Ken, looking behind him, could see the botanist standing on the seat of the machine, scanning ahead of him.
The dust cloud was rising higher and the leaders of the herd soon became visible black heads, tossing in the forefront.
The herd was heading straight toward them, sweeping unimpeded toward the grainfields and the settlement, to the river beyond. The thunder of their hooves reached Ken's ears over the noise of the five horses. It seemed to Ken that his pulse raced to match the tempo of the onrushing menace. For the second time in his life he was frightened by events he could not control, order or ignore. So fascinated was he by the danger ahead that he narrowly missed careening into Ben's stallion as the animal was pulled to a straight-legged stop by his rider. Reining his mare ineptly around, Ken trotted back to the group as Ben explained the maneuver necessary to turn the herd.
It was a simple matter of crowding the leading urfas so that they were forced to veer in another direction. Ben cautioned the men that the urfa had never seen horses and the sight of unfamiliar beasts alone might turn them.
Before Ben could translate his direction to Hrrula, the Hrruban had already urged his animal onward. Considering his thoughts of the previous evening, Reeve wondered just how much Terran Hrrula understood. His friendly interest might well mask an unsuspected ulterior motive. Yet Reeve could not attribute hostility to the Hrrubans.
Ben's simple instructions suddenly became more complicated the closer Ken got to the horn-tossing, wild-eyed, froth-covered leaders. True, the urfa had never seen horses but they were too involved in their witless stampede to spook at another menace. The horses, on the other hand, had been raised as rare specimens of practically extinct breeds in ideal, protected conditions. Raw, raging wildlife in flight was more than they could take. Not only was Ken suddenly unable to carry out Ben's simple strategy, he was barely able to cling to the saddle of his terrified mount whose sole aim was to get herself as far away from these charging beasts as possible. Had Ken been a more experienced rider like Ben or a natural horseman like Hrrula, he might have anticipated the mare's attempt to seize the initiative. He had one fleeting glimpse of Ben, Hrrula and McKee, mastering their mounts and running with the urfa leaders, before his mare headed ignominiously into the dust cloud.
Swearing with indignation and frustration, Ken had the presence of mind to release the reins and yank back, repeating the process until he caught the mare unexpectedly and got the bit from between her teeth. Yanking furiously, he managed to turn her only halfway around. She backed obstinately away from the direction he wished to go.
Heaving and trembling, bloody froth foaming at her mouth, she sidled nervously. Ken belted her smartly with his rope. She bucked with a startled neigh. He nearly lost the rope, grabbing for his saddle horn. Furious at his own ineptness, Ken kept swatting and kicking her, barely managing to keep his seat but gradually getting her to move forward. With a resigned sigh, the mare walked, stiffly at first, then broke into her five-legged trot until finally Ken got her into a rough canter.
Squinting against the sun and into the haze of the dust ahead, Ken saw that the three men had managed to alter the direction of the urfa herd. Resolved that Socks must return to the scene of her cowardice, he kept whacking her forward, ignoring the raw patches of flesh at his knees and ankles, the ache across his shoulders and the abused muscles in his buttocks.