IX 



HAT was Jack's baptism 

 of fire, for the rifle had 

 cut a deep flesh-wound 

 in his back. Snorting 

 with pain and rage, he 

 tore through the bushes and traveled 

 on for an hour or more, then lay down 

 and tried to lick the wound, but it was 

 beyond reach. He could only rub it 

 against a log. He continued his jour- 

 ney back toward Tallac, and there, in 

 a cave that was formed of tumbled 

 rocks, he lay down to rest. He was 



