"Whatcha makin' boy?" the familiar voice of Baltz called in passing. She approached them with the rolling walk of someone constantly at sea or op horseback.
"A conversation piece, most likely," Valentine said. "There's some coffee left."
"No, really, looks like a big-assed belt. New clothes, Uncle?"
"It's for me," Valentine said. "Thought I'd keep a couple of spearpoints in a bandolier."
"Ah, yeah, your precious wood. Word around the campfire is that you've got some kind of weapon against the Hissers."
"Reapers, we call them."
"Hissers is more accurate."
"Depends on if you're describing what they do or what they sound like."
"So these spears kill 'em?" she asked, eyes narrowed.
"I've seen it more than once, more than twice. If the wood is fairly fresh, when it hits their bloodstream, it kills them. Fast."
Baltz laughed, a barking sound more suitable for one of her dogs. " 'Bout time we found something that did. Can I have one of your stickers?"
'Take a couple. It's the least we can do for your help. Help yourself to some seeds and a sapling while you're at it. When you get home, you can plant it. Maybe someday it'll be a liberty tree."
"A liberty tree?"
"Something old, so old it's forgotten. Has to do with the founding of the old United States. It's an idea I've been working on ever since I found out what I had to bring back. I picture these trees growing in all the freeholds."
"Pretty much everything worthwhile in life started out as somebody's dream, boy. This one's worth a chase."
An orange explosion of teeth and claws shot out from under Valentine's snakeskin-adorned wagon. Ahn-Kha dropped his blade in alarm, and Valentine jumped.
"That's Georgie, my cat. Wonder what spooked him?" Baltz said, squatting to look under the wagon.
"Shit!" she screamed, falling backwards in alarm.
Valentine knelt, hand on his machete and ready to jump, and looked under the wagon. A chimpanzee form hung under the wagon, glaring at him with red eyes and a rat face. But the oversized back legs were all wrong, and the tail...
"Nusk!" Ahn-Kha bellowed, and his Grogs grabbed cooking implements from the campfire.
"Hey, it's-," Valentine said as the creature dropped from its inverted hiding place, spun like a cat, and hit the ground running. The Grogs howled and ran around the other side of the wagon in pursuit. Valentine jumped up into the driver's seat of the wagon for a better look.
The oversize vermin shot like a brown bolt of lightning through the camp, startling and scattering men and animals. Someone managed to bring a shotgun up, but blasted only trampled-down grasses in the thing's wake. A flick of its cotton-tuft tail was the last Valentine saw of it, but his ears followed the scrambling claws through the darkness, northwest into the heart of the Ranch.
Valentine shook his head, wishing they were off the Ranch. He'd had enough of the Texas hills with creatures from an H. G. Wells novel popping out of the brush.
"Okay, so they made some cross of jackrabbit and rat the size of a raccoon," he said, turning to Baltz. "What else do we have to look forward to? Cockroaches built like armored personnel carriers?"
Baltz passed one of her assorted handkerchiefs across her face. "Boy, oh boy, I didn't know about those things. They must be new. Did you see those red eyes?"
Valentine sat down on the bench seat at the front of the wagon, rubbing the back of his neck under his black mane. "That might explain the rattlesnakes. To hunt loose rat-rabbits, whatever. Rodents. Snakes are the best rodent-killers on earth."
"My David, I think it is more than that," Ahn-Kha said.
"What's that?" Valentine asked.
"It was here to listen. Perhaps it understood us."
"Rats are smart, but English-speaking?"