Aarnto pointed to the K'Mari Range, indicating twin peaks that curled up like devil's horns. "Guide your course directly between those. The Canal ends somewhere in the foothills below."
"Thanks, Aarnto." Ketrik placed his hand on the man's shoulder, in the Rajec custom. "May I repay you some day!"
"That day may come soon," the other said calmly. "I can almost promise it."
Ketrik wondered what he meant by that, but wasted no more time on words. Turning abruptly, he set out across the desert. The six Martians watched him go. One of them, who had been silent and surly, frowned thoughtfully now as he stared after Ketrik's retreating figure.
Ketrik judged the hills to be fifteen miles away at this point. He'd be lucky if he reached them before nightfall. After that, well, there were tales about those abandoned Canals....
He directed his course between the curving peaks. In a few hours the ground began to rise slightly, became firmer underfoot. Still later, deep little gullies began crossing the terrain. He followed these, changing from one to the other, searching for some sign of the Canal.
After an interminable search, he was rewarded. He began to notice peculiarities of the gully in which he trod. It seemed to level out, and the walls seemed smoother and higher. He scraped away layers of sand, saw ancient stone.
By this time the sun had dropped below his vision. He knew that any minute the Martian night would come with awful suddenness. And with it, would come ... other things.
But Ketrik was unprepared for what came in that moment. He heard a sudden sharp whirr of blades, and a 'copter appeared above him! It swept so low he could almost see the pilot. There was no doubt the pilot had seen him, for a heat-beam sliced downward, swept along the Canal floor. Ketrik leaped aside, hugged the sandy wall.
Then the 'copter was gone, but Ketrik knew it would circle and return. That could only mean one thing. The caravan had reached the Station, and one of those Martians had spoken of him to the Specials.