No answer. Rod jabbed the thorn again. "I'm not playing games, he said harshly. "I'm giving you one chance stay alive. Cry pax and mean it, and well both eat. Give me any trouble and you'll never eat again. It doesn't make the least difference."
There was a moments hesitation, then a muffled voice said, "Pax."
Keeping the thorn pressed against his prisoner's neck, Rod reached out for the knife which had been used to gut the buck. It was, he saw, his own Lady Macbeth. He sheathed it, felt around under the body he rested on, found another where he expected it, pulled it and kept in his hand. He chucked away the thorn and stood up. "You can get up."
The youngster got up and faced him sullenly. "Give me my knife."
"Later... if you are a good boy."
"I said 'Pax.'"
"So you did. Turn around, I want to make sure you don't have a gun on you."
"I left- I've nothing but my knife. Give it to me."
"Left it where?"
The kid did not answer. Rod said, "Okay, turn around," and threatened with the borrowed knife. He was obeyed. Rod quickly patted all the likely hiding places, confirmed that the youngster was wearing armor under clothes and over the entire torso. Rod himself was dressed only in tan, scratches, torn and filthy shorts, and a few scars. "Don't you find that junk pretty hot this weather?" he asked cheerfully. "Okay, you can turn around. Keep your distance."
The youngster turned around, still with a very sour expression. "What's your name, bud?"
"Uh, Jack."
"Jack what? Mine's Rod Walker."
"Jack Daudet."
"What school, Jack?"
"Ponce de Leon Institute."
"Mine's Patrick Henry High School."
"Matson's class?"
"The Deacon himself."
"I've heard of him." Jack seemed impressed.
"Who hasn't? Look, let's quit jawing; we'll have the whole county around our ears. Let's eat. You keep watch that way; I'll keep watch behind you."
"Then give me my knife. I need it to eat."
"Not so fast. I'll cut you off a hunk or two. Special Waldorf service.
Rod continued the incision Jack had started, carried it on up and laid the hide back from the right shoulder, hacked off a couple of large chunks of lean. He tossed one to Jack, hunkered down and gnawed his own piece while keeping sharp lookout. "You keeping your eyes peeled?" he asked.
"Sure."
Rod tore off a rubbery mouthful of warm meat. "Jack, how did they let a runt like you take the test? You aren't old enough."
"I'll bet I'm as old as you are!"
"I doubt it."
"Well... I'm qualified."
"You don't look it."
"I'm here, I'm alive."
Rod grinned. "You've made your point. I'll shut up. Once his portion was resting comfortably inside, Rod got up, split the skull and dug out the brains. "Want a handful?"
"Sure."
Rod passed over a fair division of the dessert. Jack accepted it, hesitated, then blurted out, "Want some salt?"
"Salt!" You've got salt?"
Jack appeared to regret the indiscretion. "Some. Go easy on it."
Rod held out his handful. "Put some on. Whatever you can spare."
Jack produced a pocket shaker from between shirt and armor, sprinkled a little on Rod's portion, then shrugged and made it liberal. "Didn't you bring salt along?"
"Me?" Rod answered, tearing his eyes from the mouthwatering sight. "Oh, sure! But- Well, I had an accident." He decided that there was no use admitting that he had been caught off guard.
Jack put the shaker firmly out of sight. They munched quietly, each watching half their surroundings. After a while Rod said softly, "Jackal behind you, Jack."
"Nothing else?"
"No. But it's time we whacked up the meat and got Out of here; we're attracting attention. How much can you use?"
"Uh, a haunch and a chunk of liver. I can't carry any more."
"And you can't eat more before it spoils, anyway." Rod started butchering the hind quarters. He cut a slice of hide from the belly, used it to sling his share around his neck. "Well, so long, kid. Here's your knife. Thanks for the salt."
"Oh, that's all right."
"Tasted mighty good. Well, keep your eyes open."
"Same to you. Good luck."
Rod stood still. Then he said almost reluctantly, "Uh, Jack, you wouldn't want to team up, would you?" He regretted it as soon as he said it, remembering how easily he had surprised the kid.
Jack chewed a lip. "Well... I don't know."
Rod felt affronted. "What's the matter? Afraid of me?" Didn't the kid see that Rod was doing him a favor?
"Oh, no! You're all right, I guess."
Rod had an unpleasant suspicion. "You think I'm trymg to get a share of your salt, don't you?"
"Huh? Not at all. Look, I'll divvy some salt with you."
"I wouldn't touch it! I just thought-" Rod stopped. He had been thinking that they had both missed recall; it looked like a long pull.
"I didn't mean to make you mad, Rod. You're right. We ought to team."
"Don't put yourself out! I can get along."
"I'll bet you can. But let's team up. Is it a deal?"
"Well... Shake."
Once the contract was made Rod assumed leadership. There was no discussion; he simply did so and Jack let it stand. "You lead off," Rod ordered, "and I'll cover our rear."
"Okay. Where are we heading?"
"That high ground downstream. There are good trees there, better for all night than around here. I want us to have time to settle in before dark-so a quick sneak and no talking."
Jack hesitated. "Okay. Are you dead set on spending the night in a tree?"
Rod curled his lip. "Want to spend it on the ground? How did you stay alive this long?"
"I spent a couple of nights in trees," Jack answered mildly. "But I've got a better place now, maybe."
"Huh? What sort?"
"A sort of a cave."
Rod thought about it. Caves could be death traps. But the prospect of being able to stretch out swayed him. "Won't hurt to look, if it's not too far."
"It's not far."
5. The Nova
Jack's hideaway was in a bluff overlooking the stream by which Rod had been robbed. At this point the bluffs walled a pocket valley and the stream meandered between low banks cut in an alluvial field between the bluffs. The cave was formed by an overhang of limestone which roofed a room water-carved from shale in one bluff. The wall below it was too sheer to climb; the overhanging limestone protected it above and the stream curved in sharply ahnost to the foot of the bluff. The only way to reach it was to descend the bluff farther upstream to the field edging the creek, then make a climbing traverse of the shale bank where it was somewhat less steep just upstream of the cave.
They slanted cautiously up the shale, squeezed under an overhang at the top, and stepped out on a hard slaty floor. The room was open on one side and fairly long and deep, but it squeezed in to a waist-high crawl space; only at the edge was there room to stand up. Jack grabbed some gravel, threw it into the dark hole, waited with knife ready. "Nobody home, I guess." They dropped to hands and knees, crawled inside. "How do you like it?"
"It's swell... provided we stand watches. Something could come up the way we did. You've been lucky."
"Maybe." Jack felt around in the gloom, dragged out dry branches of thorn bush, blocked the pathway, jamming them under the overhang. "That's my alarm."
"It wouldn't stop anything that got a whiff of you and really wanted to come in."