But the younger Nordis had only said, “I’ll do it,” when Dessie, uncomprehendingly, broke in.
“Seven, nine, four and ten,” she repeated solemnly,
“Twenty, sixty, and seven again. Why, it sings just as mine does—you’re right, Daddy!”
“Yes. Now how about bed.” Lars lurched back to his chair. “It’s dark. You’d better go, too, Dard.”
That was an order. Lars was expecting someone tonight, then. Dard raked two bricks away from the fire and wrapped them up in charred pieces of blanket. Then he opened the door to the crooked stairs which led to the room overhead. There it was dark and the cold was bitter. But moonlight made a short path from the uncurtained window—enough to show them the pile of straw and ragged bed covers huddled close to the chimney where some heat came up from the fire below. Dard made a nest with the bricks laid in to warm it and pushed Dessie back as far as he could without smothering her. Then he stood for a moment looking out across the moonlit snow.
They were a safe mile from the road and be had taken certain precautions of his own to insure that no sneaking patrol of Peacemen could enter the lane without warning. Across the fields was only Folley’s place—though that was a lurking danger. Behind loomed the mountains, which, wild as they were, promised safety of a kind. If only Lars were not crippled they could have gone into the hills long ago.
When they first reached the farm it had seemed a haven of safety after two years of hiding and being hunted. There was so much confusion after Renzi’s assassination and the following purge, with the Peacemen busily consolidating their power, that small fry among the remaining techneers and scientists had managed to stay free of the first nets. But now patrols were combing everywhere and some day, sooner or later, one would come here—especially if Folley revealed his suspicions to the right people. Folley wanted the farm, and he hated Lars and Dard because they were different. To be different nowadays was to sign your own death warrant. How much longer would they escape the notice of a roundup gang?
Dard was aroused from the blackest of forebodings to discover that he was biting savagely on the knuckles of a balled fist. With two quick steps he crossed the small room and felt along the shelf. His heart leaped as his groping fingers closed about the haft of a knife. Not much good against a stun rifle maybe. But when he held it so, he did not feel completely defenseless.
On impulse he put it inside his clothing, against skin which shrunk from the icy metal. And then he crawled into the nest of straw.
“Hmm— ?” came a sleepy murmur from Dessie.