There was no way of knowing when such a period of lucidity might develop. But now that the man had appeared to awaken, the possibility that it would happen within the next hour or two became a very definite one. Dowland stood briefly in scowling indecision. The next hour or two could also see him nearly down the side of the mesa, depending on the difficulties of the descent ... but there was no real choice. It was a gamble either way again; if Trelawney didn't awaken, the other gamble remained.... How long, at most, could he afford to delay? Leaving YM out of the calculation, since it couldn't be calculated, he had only the arrival of the Freeholder Troopers to consider. There was no apparent possibility that any sizable party could appear before daybreak, but there was an even chance they would be there around that time. When they came, he must either be in communication with the Solar Police Authority or far enough away from Lion Mesa to be able to avoid detection.... Four hours should be enough to give him a reasonable safety margin. He had till midnight, or a little later. Dowland pulled a chair up to the side of the couch and sat down. The night wasn't quiet. The hogs squalled occasionally, and the wind still seemed to be rising. In spite of his efforts to avoid unsettling lines of thought, the nightmarish quality of the situation on the mesa kept returning to his mind and wasn't easily dismissed. The past--the past of over half a million years ago--had moved close too the present tonight.... That was the stubborn, illogical feeling--and fear--which he couldn't entirely shake off. * * * * * Half an hour later, Miguel Trelawney began breathing uneasily, then stirred about, but lapsed again within seconds into immobile unconsciousness. Dowland resumed his waiting. His watch had just told him it was shortly before eleven-thirty when he heard the shots. They were three shots--clear, closely spaced cracks of sound, coming from a considerable distance away. Dowland was out of his chair with the second one, halfway down the dark entry hall as he heard the third. He opened the door at the end of the hall just wide enough to slip through, moved out quickly, and closed the door behind him to keep the glow of light from the living room from showing outside. As the door snapped shut, there were three more shots. A hunting rifle. Perhaps two miles to the north.... * * * * * Dowland stood staring up toward the wind-tossed line of the forest above the ranch area. Who was up there on the mesa--and why the shooting? Had the Troopers managed to get some men in by air? What would they be firing at? Signal shots, he thought then. And a signal to the ranch, in that case.... Signaling what? With that, another thought came, so abruptly and convincingly that it sent a chill through him. Doctor Paul Trelawney....