"How far back do we go?"
"You'll know some day. Soon, if your progress thus far is a criterion. Better to remember by yourself." He shook his head. "You're a phenomenon. Do you know how long it took me to develop the memory? Seventeen years. And I am second leader here."
"Who's leader?"
"You'll meet him."
I clenched my hands, looked him up and down, and said. "Pict, wolf-man, or whatever, I tell you this. I take orders badly and I acknowledge no authority higher than myself." Anything less like the old Bill Cuff would have been hard to imagine, and yet I knew these things about myself and I spoke only the truth.
"Ah," he said, his jewel-gray eyes lighting, "you're a Tartar, all right. Goes with the swift progress, I suppose. We may have to tame you a little."
"Little man," I said gently, "you are welcome to try."
He jerked a thumb at my Gladstone. "Got anything worthwhile in there?"
"Just clothes and junk."
"Well, that's something. It would be hard to outfit an ox like you from our wardrobes. We don't generally run to height, you know." He said to one of the others, "Take it to the house, Trutch." The man (or I should say the reincarnated Pict) took it and disappeared down the trail. "Now we'll throw off your hunters. Many of them?"