Free A Heritage of Stars by Clifford D. Simak

maybe?”
    â€œNot yet,” he said. “Not now. We have to be careful with a fire. Nothing but the driest wood, so there’ll be no smoke, and not too big a fire. I’ll take care of it after I get back. Don’t try it yourself. I want to be sure about the fire. Someone gets a whiff of smoke and they’ll start looking.”
    â€œAfter you get back. Where you be going, sonny?”
    â€œUp on the bluff,” he said. “I want to have a look. See if there’s anyone about.”
    â€œTake the spyglass with you, then.”
    Atop the bluff, he looked across a stretch of rolling prairie, with only occasional clumps of trees. Far to the north was what once had been a group of farm buildings, standing in a small grove. Of the buildings there was little left. Through the glasses he could make out what once had been a barn, apparently a sturdily built structure. Part of the roof had collapsed, but otherwise it still stood. Beyond it was a slight mound that probably marked the site of another, less substantial building. Part of a pole fence still existed, raggedly running nowhere.
    Squatting in a clump of brush that would serve to break up his outline if anyone should be watching, he patiently and methodically glassed the prairie, taking his time, working from the west to the east.
    A small herd of deer were feeding on the eastern side of a small knoll. He caught a badger sitting at its burrow’s mouth. A red fox sat on a stone that jutted from a low hillside, watching the countryside for any game that might be picked up easily.
    Cushing kept on watching. There must be no sloppiness, he told himself; he needed to be sure there was nothing but the animals. He started in the west again and moved slowly eastward. The deer were still there, but the badger had disappeared. More than likely it had popped into its den. The fox was gone, as well.
    To one side he caught a sense of motion. Swiveling the glasses smoothly, he caught the motion in the field. It was far off, but seemed to be moving fast. As it came nearer, he saw what it was: a body of horsemen. He tried to count them, but they were still too far away. They were not, he saw, coming directly toward him, but angling to the southeast. He watched in fascination. Finally he could count them. Either nineteen or twenty; he could not be absolutely sure. They were dressed in furs and leathers, and carried shields and spears. Their little, short-coupled horses moved at a steady lope.
    So Meg had been right. The horde was on the move. The band out of the prairie were perhaps no more than outflankers for the main force, which probably was to the north.
    He watched until they had moved out of sight, then searched the prairie again for other possible bands. None showed up, and satisfied, finally, he replaced the glasses in the case and moved off the hill and down the bluff. There might be other small bands, he knew, but there was no point in waiting for them. Meg was probably right: they’d stay out on the prairie, headed for the city and away from the river valley.
    Halfway down the bluffside a voice spoke to him from the tangle of fallen trees.
    â€œFriend,” it said. Not a loud voice, but clearly spoken, pitched to reach his ear.
    At the sound, he froze his stride, glanced swiftly about.
    â€œFriend,” the voice spoke again, “could you find it in your heart to succor a most unfortunate?”
    A trick? Cushing wondered. He reached swiftly over his shoulder for an arrow from the quiver.
    â€œThere is no need to fear,” the voice spoke again. “Even had I the wish, I am in no position to bring you any harm. I am hard pinned beneath a tree and I would be grateful for any help that you could render me.”
    Cushing hesitated. “Where are you?” he asked.
    â€œTo your right,” the voice said. “At the edge of the fallen trees. I can see you from where I lie. Should you hunker down, you undoubtedly could