Jonnie won his own bet. Terl had avoided the minesite in the south.

Jonnie stepped down into a different land.

The barren mountain and its scrub seemed to swim in a soft mist; everything was hazed and faintly blue. It seemed a very beautiful place, but it had dark gorges and inaccessible summits, and there was a secretness about it as though its softness concealed a harsh threat. He had not realized a land could be so different from the bold mountains of his home.

He had changed to buckskin. He hung a kill-club on his belt.

“It’s over there about five miles,” said Terl, pointing south. “Very rough terrain. Don't get any ideas about vanishing. There's a whole ocean and continent between you and your country. You'd never make it back.” He took out the control box and laid it on the seat behind him. He pointed at it.

“Could be,” said Jonnie, “that by tomorrow morning I’ll come back and get you to move into the village. So don't move off.”

“Tomorrow noon,” said Terl, “I’ll come down and collect fifty men, my way. If you're still alive, duck under something to avoid the stun guns. Damned fool.”

“See you tomorrow morning,” said Jonnie, moving off.

“Goodbye, rat brain,” said Terl.

Jonnie found a faint trail that went south and, alternately running and walking, wove his way through the gullies and brush and barren fields.

It was not a very promising land for food. He did not start any deer but he saw an old trace of one. There was not much grazing to be had. Far off on another mountain he thought he saw some sheep, just a few of them, more like a small cloud than animals.

He caught a glimpse of water through the scrub ahead and went up a gully, intending to get a better look. Yes, there was an inland body of water ahead. He trotted back to the trail.

Abruptly, three pointed stakes jabbed out of cover. He stopped. Very, very slowly he put up his hands, palms out to show they were empty of weapons.

A guttural, wheezing voice said, “Take his club. Be swift noo."

One spear lowered, and a heavyset youth with a black beard stepped forward and a bit fearfully yanked the club from Jonnie's belt. The youth retreated around behind him and pushed him. The other spears made way.

“Look saucy noo," the wheezing voice said, "dinna let him run away.”

They came to a small clearing and Jonnie looked at them. There were four: two with black hair and dark eyes, a third with blond hair and blue eyes and taller than the rest, plus an old man who seemed to be in charge.

Their dress was partly woven cloth and partly hides. They wore patterned skirts of some rough fabric that fell to their knees. On their heads they had bonnets.

“It’s a thief from the Orkneys,” said one.

"Na, I ken Orkneymen," said another.

“Could be he's a Swede,” said the blonde one. “But no, no Swede dresses so.”

“Hush yer prattle,” said the old one.

“Look in his pouch an' mayhap ye'll find the answer.”

Jonnie laughed. “I can give you the answer,” he said.

They recoiled on the defensive.

Then a black-haired one crept forward and looked closely into his face. “He's a Sassenach! Hear the accent!”

The old man brushed the speaker aside with impatience. "Na, the Sassenachs be dead these mony centuries. Except for those already here.”

“Let's go down to the village,” said Jonnie. "I’m a messenger.”

“Ah,” said a black-bearded one. "Clanargyll! They want to talk of peace.”

"Noo, noo, noo," said the old man. “He wears no such plaid.” He squared himself off in front of Jonnie. “Messenger you be from whom?”

“You'll fall over on your backside,” laughed Jonnie, “when I tell you. So let's go down to the village. My message is for your parson or mayor.”

“Ah, it's a parson we have. But you'll be meaning Chief of the Clan, Fearghus! Git ahind him you boys and push him along.”

The village sprawled on the shore of what they said was Loch Shin. It looked temporary, as though the inhabitants could easily pick up belongings and flee to a mountainside. A great many racks stood about with fish drying on them. A few children peeked, afraid, from behind fallen walls. No vast number of people came out to watch the group enter the village, but there was a feeling of eyes watching.

Here too the mist softened the land. The waters of the loch lay placid and extensive in the quiet day.

They put Jonnie in the front chamber of the only whole stone house apparent. It had an inner room, and the old man went in. There was considerable murmuring of voices from in there as Jonnie waited. A scrawny child peeked at him from behind a tattered cloth curtain, its blue eyes intense. He put out a hand toward it to beckon it closer, and it vanished in a flurry of curtain.

There was evidently a back door, and Jonnie heard it open and close several times. The murmuring in the inner room intensified; more people were coming into it from the back.

At length the old man came to Jonnie. “He'll see you noo," he said and pointed to the inner chamber.

Jonnie went in. About eight men had assembled and taken seats along the walls. They had spears and clubs beside them or in their hands.

Seated on a large chair against the back wall was a big black-haired, black-bearded power of a man. He had a short skirt that showed the bony knees of strong legs. He wore a pair of white crossbelts, pinned together at the center of the X with a large silver badge. A bonnet sat squarely on his head and he held a large, ancient sword across his knees. Jonnie knew he must be looking at Chief of the Clan, Fearghus.

Fearghus looked about at his council to see that they were all there and alert. He stared at the newcomer.

“A messenger,” said Fearghus, “from whom?”

“Have you had any trouble with the monsters?” said Jonnie.

A shock went through the group.

“I take it you mean the demons,” said Fearghus.

“Would you mind telling me any trouble you have had?” said Jonnie.

This threw them into an uproar. Fearghus held up an imperious hand.

Quiet fell.

“Young man,” said Fearghus, “since you give us no name, as you claim to be a messenger, although you have not said from whom– though I suppose you will tell us in good time-l will do you the courtesy of answering your question.” Jonnie was getting the notes of the accent and followed easily. The Chief talked in his throat and clipped off the words.

“Since the days of the myths,” said Fearghus, “we have had nothing but trouble with the demons. The myths tell us they raised a cloud across the land and all peoples died except a very few. I am sure you know these myths since they are religious and you appear to be a properly, politely, religious man.

“All to the south of us, no men dare live. There is a fortress of the demons five hundred miles to the south and west. And from time to time, they foray out and hunt men. They kill them without reason or compunction.

“At this moment you find us in the fishing village, for the fish are running. We sit here and work at risk. As soon as we have a little food, we will retire further into the Highlands. We have always been a proud people, we of the Clanfearghus. But no one can fight the demons. Now that I have answered you, please continue.”

“I am here,” said Jonnie, “to recruit fifty young, valiant men. They will be taught certain skills and will perform certain tasks. It will be dangerous. Many of them may die. But in the end, should God grant us fortune and we are true to our task, we may defeat the demons and drive them from this world.”

It caused an explosion. The council had withdrawn into themselves at their Chief's recitation of ancient history and they had been made fearful. But the idea of someone combating the demons was so outrageous they exploded.