"But what—" he began, turning to Shan Kar.
He didn't finish. The cry that came echoing faintly up out of the great moonlit valley struck him silent.
Hai - ooo!
No human cry was that but one he had heard before in the uplands. The hunting call of wolves, of many wolves.
Hai - ooo! Hai - ooo!
The ponies jumped nervously. Shan Kar's voice rang urgent above the clatter of their hoofs.
"Tark's clan race ahead to cut us off! We must ride fast for Anshan!"
"These pack-ponies can't go fast!" Nick Sloan started to object and was silenced by the grim reply.
"They will!"
They rode pellmell down slippery rock slopes, Shan Kar leading them southward. And forest came darkly up to meet them — black forest of fir and larch and cedar that seemed to clothe much of the great valley.