"There's a farm to the northwest," he said. "Or was, until it burned. If they're using it, they may be using the old farm lane to bring the wagons back, and cross this road farther along. As I remember, that other farm lane hits this road in about the same place."

"Well, do we follow this?" asked Paks.

"No. Not with horses. We'd make a noise like an army in there, with a third of the leaves down as they are. If you'll take my advice, we'll go along the road and look for that other place, where the lane comes in."

Paks could just see the lane coming in ahead when Mal stopped abruptly. "Ha," he said loudly. "There's the tree I come for." She stared at him, surprised, and he winked. "You'd best go on up the road a ways," he went on. "I want to drop it right here in the road. Tell you what. You take these two wheels along with you, eh? Go on—yes—right along up there, at least as far as that lane. This'un'll fall long, I tell you." Paks finally caught on, and wandered slowly up the road as he bade her. Behind her, the axe rang on the tree. She wondered if it really was a "limber pine" or whatever.

It was hard to roll the wheels along with one hand and lead the black horse with the other. Several times a wheel got loose, and she had to bend to pick it back up. When she got both wheels as far as the lane crossing, she dropped them with a grunt and wiped her hands on the fallen leaves. The black horse nudged her, and she scratched his chin idly. She could just see Mal bending to his work.

"How long will you be?" she called back to him. The rhythmic axe blows stopped, and he stood up.

"Eh?"

"How long will you be?" She made it loud and distinct. "I thought I'd ride on and find water for my horse."

"Oh—say—a finger or two of sun. Not longer. There's a spring up that lane—used to be a farm there, some years back. You could bring me some—my can's back here; this fellow won't fall till I drop him."

Paks mounted and rode back, to another of Mal's winks, and he handed her a tall can with a wire bail. "It's good water, or used to be," he said. "Look out for wild animals, though. I've heard of wolves using it."

"I'll be careful," said Paks, and drew along the black horse's neck the tracks she'd seen: wagons and teams both. Mal nodded and waved her away.

Paks made no attempt at silence as she rode along the lane that led south. She found a thread of water beside the lane, and then a cobble-walled springhouse. Beyond was a half-overgrown clearing with the ruins of a farmhouse and outbuildings. She didn't look at it, but dipped the can in the spring, and let the black horse drink afterwards. It was not really thirsty, and wanted to sniff at fresh droppings a few feet away. Paks reined it around slowly, and rode back, glad of her helmet and mail shirt.