riedly assembling his own knife-stick, he aimed the trembling blade

at the coiled bulk of the snake.

Clearwater reversed her knife-stick and gently prodded the rattler with

the butt of the shaft. The rattler stirred, uncoiled the top half of

its body and hissed angrily.

Clearwater's eyes fixed on the snake with an unwavering, hypnotic

stare. Cadillac jabbed the point of his knife-stick against the

rattler's throat as it flicked its head towards him, jaws open, then

both recoiled simultaneously. The bones on its tailed rustled

ominously. Uncoiling the rest of its six-foot length, the rattler

tried to slither up around the rock under which it had been sleeping.

Clearwater quickly drove it back. Caught between the two prodding

knife-sticks the rattler took the Only avenue of escape, rig-ragging

out of the shadows onto the sunlit side of the gully and up over the

edge into the short grass.

Cadillac took a tenative peek over the top. 'Where has it gone?"

'Towards the capo,' whispered Clearwater. Holding the knife-stick in

her two hands, she rested her elbows on the edge of the gully, pointed

the knife blade towards the capo, put the butt of the shaft against her

forehead and closed her eyes.

'What are you doing?" whispered Cadillac.

'Don't talk,' she hissed, closing her eyes even tighter.

'Load your crossbow and aim for the capo."

Cadillac slithered quickly along the gully, pushed the camouflaged

crossbow over the edge and wormed his way into a patch of long grass.

Reaching into the bag at his belt, he took out one of the barbed, ten

inch-long bolts and placed it against the taut bowstring, with one of

its four vanes in the slot cut in the barrel of the bow. He parted the

grass cautiously. The capo with its prized ten-point horns was about

two hundred yards away. Well within the range of a Mute crossbow but

a difficult shot for a relatively untrained marksman like Cadillac. He

rubbed his palms in the earth to wipe off the sweat.

The female fast-foot masking the capo started nervously and skittered

sideways as the rattler reached them. The capo backed away, stamping

its right foreleg, nosing the ground, then tossing its great horns in

the air. Cadillac came up on one knee and brought the crossbow hard

into his shoulder, the elbow of his left arm locked against his raised

thigh, hand supporting the barrel of the bow rock-steady. He sighted

along the upright vane of the bolt, aiming at the chest of the capo,

allowing for the distance the bolt would drop on its way to the

target.

The big fast-foot lunged forward, caught the rattler on the forward

points of its horns and tossed it high into the air. As the powerful

neck arched backwards, Cadillac fired at the base of the white

throat.

The capo staggered under the force of the impact, mouth open to the

sky, emitted a brief deep-throated roar of pain and alarm, staggered,

fell to its knees then toppled sideways, hitting the ground with a

great thud.

Cadillac leapt to his feet with a whooping cry of triumph as the rest

of the herd bounded away eastwards across the plain; the young males,

who had crossed the gully behind them, jinking crazily as they

passed.

Clearwater scrambled out of the gully carrying their knife-sticks.

Cadillac danced around her gleefully as she ran towards the fallen

capo. 'Did you ever see such a fine head? Or such a fine shot?"

Clearwater knelt and examined the fast-foot as Cadillac strutted round

it, his face glowing with excitement. The body of the deer quivered

spasmodically as the nervous system responded to the last confused

signals of the dying brain.

'Where did you aim?" asked Clearwater.

'For the heart,' replied Cadillac. 'Where the throat joins the

chest."

He knelt beside the dead animal and ran his hand down its neck. He

felt blood run between his fingers. 'See here - you can feel the end

of my shaft."

Clearwater nodded gravely then lifted her hand from the side of the

capo. 'Then whose bolt is this?"

Cadillac's mouth dropped open as he saw the vanes of a crossbow bolt