The pace was just bearable, between a fast walk and a dogtrot. The route led across the open, flat floor of the valley and through knee-high grass. The grass saved them somewhat, as the centaur leading them seemed to feel that a fall or two every few hundred yards represented optimum efficiency. He never seemed impatient and would stop and let them get up, but always started off again at a clip brisk for humans. Max and Ellie ceased trying to talk, their throats being burned dry by their panting efforts to keep up. A tiny stream meandered through the bottom of the valley; the centaur jumped easily across it. It was necessary for the humans to wade. Ellie paused in midstream, leaned down and started to drink. Max objected, "Ellie! Don't drink that--you don't know that it's safe."
"I hope it poisons me so I can lie down and die. Max, I can't go much farther."
"Chin up, kid. We'll get out of this. I've been keeping track of where we've gone." He hesitated, then drank also, being terribly thirsty. The centaur let them, then tugged them on.
It was as far again to the rising ground and forest on the other side. They had thought that they were as tired as they could be before they started up hill; they were mistaken. The centaur was agile as a goat and seemed surprised that they found it difficult. Finally Ellie collapsed and would not get up; the centaur came back and stirred her roughly with a three-toed hoof.
Max struck him with both fists. The centaur made no move to retaliate but looked at him with that same stupid astonishment. Their rear guard came up and conversed with it, after which they waited for perhaps ten minutes. Max sat down beside Ellie and said anxiously, "Feeling any better?"
"Don't talk."
Presently the guard edged between them and drove Max back by stepping on him, whereupon the other centaur tugged on Ellie's leash. It contracted and she was forced to scramble to her feet. The centaurs let them rest twice after that. After an endless time, when the local sun was dropping low in the west, they came out on flat table land, still heavily wooded. They continued through trees for a distance which Max's count of paces told him was under a mile but seemed like ten, then stopped.
They were in a semi-clearing, a space carpeted with fallen needles. Their guard came up to the other centaur and took from him the end of Max's leash, flipped it around the base of a tree, to which it clung. The other centaur did the same with Ellie's leash to another tree about forty feet away. Having done so, they roughly urged the two together, while stopping to stroke their bonds until they were stretched out very thin. It allowed Max and Ellie enough slack that they might have passed each other.
This did not seem to please the centaurs. One of them shifted Max's leash farther back into the surrounding bushes, dragging him with it. This time at the extreme limit allowed by their bonds they were about six feet apart. "What are they doing?" asked Ellie.
"Looks like they don't want us to combine forces."
Finished, the centaurs trotted away. Ellie looked after them, began to sob, then cried openly, tears running down her dirty face and leaving tracks. "Stow it," Max said harshly. "Sniffling will get us nowhere."
"I can't help it," she bawled. "I've been brave all day--at least I've tried to be. I ..." She collapsed face down and let herself go.
By getting down prone and stretching Max could just reach her head. He patted her tangled hair. "Take it easy, kid," he said softly. "Cry it out, if you'll feel better."
"Oh, Maxie! Tied up ... like a dog."
"We'll see about that." He sat up and examined his tether.
Whatever the ropelike leash was, it was not rope. It had a smooth shiny surface which reminded him more of a snake, though the part that wound around his ankle showed no features; it simply flowed around his ankle and merged back into itself.
He lifted the bight and detected a faint throbbing. He stroked it as he had seen the centaurs do and it responded with flowing pulsations, but it neither shrank nor grew longer, nor did it loosen its grip. "Ellie," he announced, "This thing is _alive_."
She lifted a woebegone face. "What thing?"
"This rope."
"Oh, that! Of course."
"At least," he went on, "if it isn't, it's not really dead." He tried his knife again, there was no effect. "I'll bet if I had a match I could make it cry 'Uncle.' Got an Everlite, Ellie?"
"I don't smoke."
"Neither do I. Well, maybe I can make a fire some other way. Rubbing two sticks together, or something."
"Do you know how?"
"No." He continued stroking and patting the living rope, but, though he always got a response in pulsations, he did not seem to have the right touch; the bond stayed as before. He was continuing this fruitless attempt when he heard his name called. "Max! Ellie!"
Ellie sat up with a jerk. "Chipsie! Oh, Max, she followed us. Come here, darling!"
The spider puppy was high above them in a tree. She looked carefully around, then scurried down, making the last ten feet a flying leap into Ellie's arms. They cuddled and made soft noises, then Ellie straightened up, her eyes shining. "Max, I feel so much better."
"So do I." He added, "Though I don't know why."
The spider puppy announced gravely, "Chipsie follow."
Max reached across and petted her. "Yes, Chipsie did. Good girl!"
Ellie hugged the spider puppy. "I don't feel deserted now, Max. Maybe everything will come out all right."
"Look, Ellie, we're not in too bad a spot. Maybe I'll find the combination to tickle these ropes or snakes or whatever so they'll give up. If I do, we'll sneak back tonight."
"How would we find our way?"
"Don't worry. I watched every foot of the way, every change of direction, every landmark."
"Even in the dark?"
"Easier in the dark. I know these stars--I sure ought to. But suppose we don't get loose; we still aren't licked."
"Huh? I don't relish spending my life tied to a tree."
"You won't. Look--I think these things are just curious about us. They won't eat us, that's sure--they probably live on grass. Maybe they'll get bored and turn us loose. But if they don't, it'll be rough on them."
"Huh? Why?"
"Because of Mr. Walther and George Daigler--and Sam, Sam Anderson; that's why. They're probably beating the bushes for us right now. We are less than ten miles from the ship--five by a straight line. They'll find us. Then if these silly-looking centaurs want to get tough, they'll learn about modern weapons. They and their fool throwing ropes!"
"It might take a long time to find us. Nobody knows where we went."
"Yes," he admitted. "If I had a pocket radio. Or some way to signal. Or even a way to build a fire. But I don't."
"I never thought. It just seemed like going for a stroll in the park."
Max thought darkly that he had tried to warn her. Why, even the hills around home weren't safe if a body didn't keep his eyes peeled ... you could run into a mean old bobcat, or even a bear. Person like Ellie never 'ud had enough hard knocks to knock sense into her, that was her trouble.
Presently he admitted that he himself hadn't looked for grief from anything as apparently chuckled-headed and harmless as these centaur things. Anyhow, as Sam would say, no use cryin' over spilt milk when the horse was already stolen.
"Ellie."
"Huh?"
"Do you suppose Chipsie could find her way back?"
"Why, I don't know."
"If she could, we could send a message."
Chipsie looked up. "Back?" she inquired. "Please back. Go home."
Ellie frowned. "I'm afraid Chipsie doesn't talk that well. She'd probably just hiccup and get incoherent."