The mastiffs seemed confused. They were all sniffing up and down the gully bank. The dog that had crossed the creek was growling and advancing with a twitching muzzle toward the dark circle of the burrow.
"That's it," Illya breathed. "Don't look up."
The limb upon which Illya was hanging gave a faint, horrendous crack.
Illya hung on tightly as the limb sagged perhaps a foot. There came another splintery sound. More wood gave way.
Illya wished he were sixty pounds lighter. There was nothing to be done about that now. He was hanging barely six feet above the head of the curious mastiff, absolutely immobile.
The dogs would know Illya was somewhere nearby; scent would tell them so. But he had thrown them off by pitching his clothes into the burrow. If this accursed limb only held up long enough—
With a ferocious yelp, the mastiff just below shot his muzzle into the burrow, growling savagely. Then, as though jerked by a collar-tether, the mastiff totally disappeared inside.
Illya waited for the next act in the naturalistic drama. It was not long in coming.
A yip, a sound of earth being violently disturbed, the angry barkings and snarlings of more than one animal all indicated that mastiff and fox had met.
Hearing this call to arms, the rest of the dogs shot into action. They barked and charged across the creek, and for a moment there was a considerable traffic-jam at the narrow entrance as the mastiffs all tried to squeeze inside to aid their comrade.
The last of the mastiffs finally squirmed into the burrow, from which issued the most frightful sounds of animal ill-temper Illya Kuryakin had ever heard. He wasted no time. He pinched the brown capsule with his thumbnail to activate the pressure-fused trigger device and dropped the capsule straight down into the dirt a foot above the burrow entrance.
Suddenly a reddish projectile shot from the burrow and landed with a splash in the creek. The earth at the burrow mouth erupted in a low, smacking explosion. A cloud of white billowed, followed by a shockwave sufficient to shear off the limb where Illya hung.
Illya flailed in space and landed on all fours in the creek, sopping wet. From a flat rock a foot away a red fox regarded him with alarm. Apparently, figuring that there had been enough surprises for one morning, the fox bounded away into the forest.
TWO
Breathing hard, Illya picked himself up. The explosion had sealed the burrow. Wisps of smoke curled into the air; frantic barking seemed to rise from the very ground. It would give Illya the slight advantage he needed, even though Illya could still hear the THRUSH agents clattering along in the woods, getting closer.
He fought his way up the bank beside the sealed-up burrow and slipped into the forest.
The THRUSH agents would have quite a time figuring out how nine of their killer dogs had gotten sealed inside a hole in the ground which contained no U.N.C.L.E. agents.
By the time they dug the mastiffs out, Illya trusted that he would be safely hidden away somewhere. This was his immediate goal as he glided through the trees, making as little noise as possible.
His right leg still pulsed hellishly. He knew he would have to hole up soon, not only to wait for covering darkness, but to rest.
After having covered about two miles with no immediate evidence of pursuit, Illya discovered another huge oak which would offer him sufficient shelter. He dragged himself up to the second fork, folded his body awkwardly into a not-quite-comfortable position and settled down to listen.
Far off he heard barking. This gradually died away. The sun rose higher. Illya dozed.
He woke as the shadows of afternoon were lengthening. He heard a party of men passing somewhere, the renewed snarling and snapping of dogs.
He lay still as a stone among the rustling leaves.
By turning his head just a fraction he was able to catch a glimpse of the searchers—fully-armed THRUSH troopers. THis time the two mastiffs which they had with them were leashed. Such was the reward for dogs who failed.
Several tense moments passed before the search party disappeared. Evidently Illya's trail had grown cold. The forest fell silent again, save for the occasional twitter of a bird or the chirp of an insect.
The pain in Illya's right leg had begun to diminish a little. He was incredibly hungry. Satisfying the inner man would have to wait, though. He had to take up his westward course again, and try to locate Napoleon.
Wasting nearly an entire day eluding the THRUSH pursuers did not exactly put Illya in high spirits. There was no telling what had happened to Napoleon during that time.
But there was nothing to be done about it. He wouldn't have gotten this far if he hadn't holed up in the tree to avoid discovery.
At sunset Illya climbed down. He walked cautiously, shivering in the night's coolness.
About an hour later, Illya nearly stumbled across a light beam running between two photo-cells set facing one another in two large tree trunks. His pulses quickened. He bellied down. Carefully he slid beneath the photo-beam and jumped up on the other side.
Warning devices built into tree trunks meant that he was nearly to the target.
Pressing on, Illya thought for the first time since the preceding night about the girl with whom Napoleon had had a date. What was her name? Helen? No, Helene. A German last name. Bauer, that was it. Was she too a prisoner of the unspeakable minions of THRUSH? That would teach her to listen to Napoleon's sweet nothings.
The cynical thought did nothing to cheer him up. As he crept on through the forest suffused with blood-colored sunset light, he still had the depressing conviction that he might be much too late to save his friend.
Presently he heard a sound. It happened only seconds before his keen eyes picked out something ahead which resembled a high stone wall.
Illya advanced to a large tree by the wall. Looking to the left, he saw by the feeble light of evening a large gate guarded by a pair of oversized THRUSH troopers lounging near a booth. This, he realized with a tightening of his nerves, was the place.
THREE
The sound which assaulted his ears took on definition. Voices, many of them, sharp and in unison. The voices chanted some kind of cadence count.
Then Illya recognized the language.
German.
"Ein. Zwei. Drei! Vier! Ein! Zwei! Drei! Vier!"
What made the chant chilling was the savage way the syllables were shouted out. The voices from the other side of the high wall belonged to women.
Drawing back into the trees, he began to work his way around to the right. He was sure the wall itself would be rigged with anti-personnel devices. He decided that he would make a complete circle of the wall to judge its length. Then, if no other means of entrance presented itself, he would make an attempt on the front gate, risky as it might be.
In moments Illya reached the corner of the wall. He peered down the side of the square which ran westward, at a right angle to the front expanse. Trees completely ringed the property, affording him cover as he worked along all the way to the wall's rear corner. There he paused once more to reconnoiter.
The cadence-count had grown much louder. Whatever the women were doing, they were doing it near this rear part of the grounds. A kind of postern gate appeared to be set in the back wall about half way along. A THRUSH soldier walked up and down laconically, a machine pistol slung over his shoulder.
Illya's nerves tightened another notch. He crept along through the underbrush until he was opposite the postern gate, an ancient metal affair with new hinges and polished locking mechanism.