"I am of the People of the Blue Wolf. We were brought across the star lanes to make this world safe for ... for ... the...." She hesitated, and now there was a shade of puzzlement on her face. "There is a reason--a dream. No, there is the dream and there is reality. I am Kaydessa of the Golden Horde, but sometimes I remember other things--like this speech of strange words I am mouthing now----" "The Golden Horde!" Travis knew now. The embroidery, Sons of the Blue Wolf, all fitted into a special pattern. But what a pattern! Scythian art, the ornament that the warriors of Genghis Khan bore so proudly. Tatars, Mongols--the barbarians who had swept from the fastness of the steppes to change the course of history, not only in Asia but across the plains of middle Europe. The men of the Emperor Khans who had ridden behind the yak-tailed standards of Genghis Khan, Kublai Khan, Tamerlane--! "The Golden Horde," Travis repeated once again. "That lies far back in the history of another world, Wolf Daughter." She stared at him, a queer, lost expression on her dust-grimed face. "I know." Her voice was so muted he could hardly distinguish the words. "My people live in two times, and many do not realize that." Tsoay had crouched down beside them to listen. Now he put out his hand, touching Travis' shoulder. "Redax?" "Or its like." For Travis was sure of one point. The project, which had been training three teams for space colonization--one of Eskimos, one of Pacific Islanders, and one of his own Apaches--had no reason or chance to select Mongols from the wild past of the raiding Hordes. There was only one nation on Terra which could have picked such colonists. "You are Russian." He studied her carefully, intent on noting the effect of his words. But she did not lose that lost look. "Russian ... Russian ..." she repeated, as if the very word was strange. Travis was alarmed. Any Russian colony planted here could well possess technicians with machines capable of tracking a fugitive, and if mountain heights were protection against such a hunt, he intended to gain them, even by night traveling. He said this to Tsoay, and the other emphatically agreed. "The horse is too lame to go on," the younger man reported. Travis hesitated for a long second. Since the time they had stolen their first mounts from the encroaching Spanish, horses had always been wealth to his people. To leave an animal which could well serve the clan was not right. But they dared not waste time with a lame beast. "Leave it here, free," he ordered. "And the woman?" "She goes with us. We must learn all we can of these people and what they do here. Listen, Wolf Daughter," again Travis leaned close to make sure she was listening to him as he spoke with emphasis--"you will travel with us into these high places, and there will be no trouble from you." He drew his knife and held the blade warningly before her eyes.