The customs man scribbled something on his clipboard. "You are now in the lands of His Highness Don Miguel, Sovereign Ruler and Duke of South and Central America. Entrance fee to His Highness' lands is for you ten dollar American. You have?" Kesley scowled but produced the fee without question. Van Alen handed money over as well. The customs officer smiled coldly and nodded. "Very well. You may enter. There will be no inspection of your belongings." "Trusting fellow, isn't he?" Kesley asked, as they saddled their animals. "No customs inspection." "They're very trusting down here, especially when you give them ten dollars too many. Don Miguel's Dukedom isn't particularly noted for its high ethical standards, Kesley. Everyone's fantastically loyal to the Duke, but they stay loyal to themselves as well. See?" "You know, you've spent more cash in bribes on this trip than I've ever seen in my life," Kesley said. "A well-greased road makes for a smooth journey," van Alen intoned. "Another important lesson for you." Kesley smiled and goaded his horse on. The road out of Bahia Blanca was a long and winding one; from this vantage-point, Argentina Province looked limitless. The air was cold and clear, down in this continent where winter came in July. Kesley let the constant rhythm of his galloping horse lull him into a veiled patience; he rode impassively, listening to the repeated _clickety-clack_ of well-shod hooves coming from van Alen's Old-Kind horse, and the less distinct, thumping sound of his own mutant steed's three-toed paws pounding the roadway. The sounds tended to hypnotize him. At any rate, they kept him from thinking too seriously about the unknown destination that lay ahead. The journey continued. By evening of the next day they had left the city far behind and had ridden into the heart of a broad, apparently endless, green plain covered thickly with coarse, matted grass and dotted with short, heavy-boled trees. Conversation between the two men had long since dwindled to a mere interchange of grunts. But the monotony of the journey was short-lived. Near midnight, from over a slight rise in the plain, eight men appeared, riding lowslung mutant ponies. They were heading straight for van Alen and Kesley. Kesley saw them first. He nudged van Alen. "Bandits," the Antarctican said immediately. "Let's split up. You go to the east; I'll head the other way." "And how do we get together again?" "I'll find you afterward. Get going!" Kesley dug in his spurs and the horse leaped forward. The bandits bore down on them as the two men rode in opposite directions. And, to Kesley's horror, he saw the bandit group splitting in two. Instantly, van Alen doubled back and beckoned to Kesley to do the same. If the bandits had detected the maneuver and were sweeping off to intercept them, there was nothing gained by dividing. They stood a better chance back-to-back.