“How far was your farm from that town?”
“About ten miles. But with all this snow—” Dard’s breath made a white cloud about his head.
“Yes- the snow. And maybe more of it later. Look here, kid, this is the important part. We haven’t too much time—”
“They may wait until morning to trail us. And if they bring dogs—”
“I don’t mean that!” It appeared to Dard that Kimber waved away the idea of pursuit as if that did not matter.
“This is what counts. The course the Voice set for us-I asked before we left how long it was good for. The answer was five days and two hours. Now I figure we have about five days and forty-five minutes. We have to blast off within that time or try a second visit to the Voice. Frankly, I think that would be hopeless.”
“Five days and forty-five minutes,” Dard echoed. “But, even if we have luck all the way it might take two-three days to reach the Cleft. And we haven’t supplies—”
“Let us hope Kordov has kept things moving there,” was Kimber’s only comment. “And waiting here now isn’t add- hag to our time. Come on.”
Twice through the hours which followed they took to cover as ’copters went over. The machines ranged with an angry intentness in a circle and it hardly seemed possible that the fugitives could escape notice. But maybe it was their white clothing which kept them invisible.
The sun was up when Dard caught at the end of a rime-eaten post projecting from the snow, swinging around to face the track it marked.