I drew and returned her salute. They were not bothering me yet, although some, having finished lunch or having been crowded out, were milling around and looking me over. Then I sheathed again, and nocked an arrow. "Start pumping it up. Star, right toward me. Have Rufo lower you a bit more."

She returned sword and signaled Rufo. He let her down slowly until she was about nine feet off the ground, where she signaled a stop. "Now pump it up!" I called out. Those bloodthirsty natives had forgotten me; they were watching Star, those not still busy eating Cousin Abbie or Great-Uncle John.

"All right," she answered. "But I have a throwing line. Can you catch it?"

"Oh!" The smart darling had watched my maneuvers and had figured out what would be needed. "Hold it a moment! Ill make a diversion." I reached over my shoulder, counted arrows by touch—seven. I had started with twenty and made use of one; the rest were scattered, lost.

I used three in a hurry, right, left, and ahead, picking targets as far away as I dared risk, aiming at midpoint and depending on that wonderful bow to take those shafts straight and flat. Sure enough, the crowd went for fresh meat like a government handout. "Now!"

Ten seconds later I caught her in my arms and collected a split-second kiss for toll.

Ten minutes later Rufo was down by the same tactics, at a cost of three of my arrows and two of Star's smaller ones. He had to lower himself, sitting in the bight and checking the free end of the line under both armpits; he would have been a sitting duck without help. As soon as he was untangled from the line, he started jerking it down off the cliff, and faking it into a coil.

"Leave that!" Star said sharply. "We haven't time and it's too heavy to carry."

"I'll put it in the pack."

"No."

"It's a good line," Rufo persisted. "We'll need it."

"You'll need a shroud if we're not through the marsh by nightfall." Star turned to me. "How shall we march, milord?"

I looked around. In front of us and to the left a few jokers still milled around, apparently hesitant about getting closer. To our right and above us the great cloud at the base of the Tails made iridescent lace in the sky. About three hundred yards in front of us was where we would enter the trees and just beyond the marsh started.

We went downhill in a tight wedge, myself on point, Rufo and Star following on flank, all of us with arrows nocked. I had told them to draw swords if any Homed Ghost got within fifty feet.

None did. One idiot came straight toward us, alone, and Rufo knocked him over with an arrow at twice that distance. As we came up on the corpse Rufo drew his dagger. "Let it be!" said Star. She seemed edgy.

"I'm just going to get the nuggets and give them to Oscar."

"And get us all killed. If Oscar wants nuggets, he shall have them."

"What sort of nuggets?" I asked, without stopping.

"Gold, Boss. Those blighters have gizzards like a chicken. But gold is all they swallow for it. Old ones yield maybe twenty, thirty pounds."

I whistled.

"Gold is common here," Star explained. "There is a great heap of it at the base of the falls, inside the cloud, washed down over eons. It causes fights between the Ghosts and the Cold Water Gang, because the Ghosts have this odd appetite and sometimes risk entering the cloud to satisfy it."

"I haven't seen any of the Cold Water Gang yet," I commented.

"Pray God you don't," Rufo answered.

"All the more reason to get deep into the marsh," Star added. "The Gang doesn't go into it and even the Ghosts don't go far in. Despite their splay feet, they can be sucked under."

"Anything dangerous in the swamp itself?"

"Plenty," Rufo told me. "So be sure you step on the yellow flowers."

"Watch where you put your own feet. If that map was right, I won't lose us. What does a Cold Water Gangster look like?"

Rufo said thoughtfully, "Ever seen a man who had been drowned for a week?" I let the matter drop.

Before we got to the trees I had us sling bows and draw swords. Just inside the cover of trees, they jumped us. Horned Ghosts, I mean, not the Cold Water Gang. An ambush from all sides, I don't know how many. Rufo killed four or five and Star at least two and I danced around, looking active and trying to survive.

We had to climb up and over bodies to move on, too many to count.

We kept on into the swamp, following the little golden pathfinder flowers and the twists and turns of the map in my head. In about half an hour we came to a clearing big as a double garage. Star said faintly, "This is far enough." She had been holding one hand pressed to her side but bad not been willing to stop until then, although blood stained her tunic and all down the left leg of her tights.

She let Rufo attend her first, while I guarded the bottleneck into the clearing. I was relieved not to be asked to help, as, after we gently removed her tunic, I felt sick at seeing how badly she had been gored—and never a peep out of her. That golden body—hurt!

As a knight errant, I felt like a slob.

But she was chipper again, once Rufo had followed her instructions. She treated Rufo, then treated me—half a dozen wounds each but scratches compared with the rough one she had taken.

Once she had me patched up she said, "Milord Oscar, how long will it be until we are out of the marsh?"

I ran through it in my head. "Does the going get any worse?"

"Slightly better."

"Not over an hour."

"Good. Don't put those filthy clothes back on. Rufo, unpack a bit and well have clean clothes and more arrows. Oscar, well need them for the blood kites, once we are out of the trees."

The little black box filled most of the clearing before it was unfolded enough to let Rufo get out clothes and reach the arsenal. But clean clothes and lull quiver made me feel like a new man, especially after Rufo dug out a half liter of brandy and we split it three ways, gurglegurgle! Star replenished her medic's pouch, then I helped Rufo fold up the luggage.

Maybe Rufo was giddy from brandy and no lunch. Or perhaps from loss of blood. It could have been just the bad luck of an unnoticed patch of slippery mud. He had the box in his arms, about to make the last closure that would fold it to knapsack size, when he slipped, recovered violently, and the box sailed out of his arms into a chocolate-brown pool.

It was far out of reach. I yelled, "Rufo, off with your belt!" I was reaching for the buckle of mine.

"No, no!" screamed Rufo. "Stand back! Get clear!"

A corner of the box was still in sight. With a safety line on me I knew I could get it, even if there was no bottom to the pool. I said so, angrily.

"No, Oscar!" Star said urgently. "He's right. We march. Quickly."

So we marched—me leading. Star breathing on my neck, Rufo crowding her heels.

We had gone a hundred yards when there was a mud volcano behind us. Not much noise, just a bass rumble and a slight earthquake, then some very dirty rain. Star quit hurrying and said pleasantly, "Well, that's that."

Rufo said, "And all the liquor was in it!"

"I don't mind that," Star answered. "Liquor is everywhere. But I had new clothes in there, pretty ones, Oscar. I wanted you to see them; I bought them with you in mind."

I didn't answer. I was thinking about a flame-thrower and an M-1 and a couple of cases of ammo. And the liquor, of course.

"Did you hear me, milord?" she persisted. "I wanted to wear them for you."

"Princess," I answered, "you have your prettiest clothes right with you, always."

I heard the happy chuckle that goes with her dimples. "I'm sure that you have often said that before. And no doubt with great success."

We were out of the swamp long before dark and hit the brick road soon after. Blood kites are no problem. They are such murderous things that if you shoot an arrow in the direction of one of their dives, a kite will swerve and pluck it out of the air, getting the shaft right down its gullet. We usually recovered the arrows.