"She means," said Lentz, "they saw the tower. It was magic to them--she says, if we meet any band of savages she can get them to help us." Alan decided against it. Haste was necessary; they could not be sure how long Turber's aero would remain. "No," he said. "Tell Lea, I think not. You and I will go, Lentz. She and San had better remain with the tower." Lea was disappointed, but she yielded. Near the end of the trip San remained at the controls; the others went to the top of the tower. It presently lurched and stopped. Alan saw that they were in the forest. A quiet, starlit evening. From this height at the tower's top, the distant Hudson showed plainly. A dark, rolling area of woods, thick with underbrush. To the south a few lights in the little city of New Amsterdam were visible. Almost directly west, by the river, there was a yellow glow. "That's where Turber is," said Lentz. "Yes," Lea agreed. And she pointed southeast. Another camp fire was off there--a mile or so away, perhaps. A band of Indians encamped. * * * * * As well as he could, Alan tried to keep in mind the lay of this strange land. Strangely dark and sinister forest. Yet Alan was born right here in this same Space! He had lived here all his life. This, in 1945, was Central Park. The Turber aero lay over by Riverside Drive. But how different now! Out in the Hudson River a large canoe was coming south. It seemed heading in the direction of the Turber aero. They went back to the lower tower room. Through the windows here the black woods crowded like a wall. "Tell them, Lentz, to watch closely. At any sign of trouble, tell them to take the tower and escape." Lentz told them. They nodded solemnly. Lea gave Alan her hand. Again, as always, its touch thrilled him. She said: "Good-by, Alan. Good--luck." "Good-by, Lea." In the woods, Lentz and Alan crept through the underbrush. "You lead," Alan whispered. He felt safer with Lentz in front of him. But he told himself that was foolish; Lentz seemed perfectly friendly. "Quiet, we make no noise. In these woods, it seems, savages are everywhere." It was rough, heavy traveling. The underbrush was thick; there were fallen trees, tiny streams occasionally; deep, solemn glens, thick with leafy mold and huge ferns. And the solid wall of trees. Wild brier, dogwood, sumach, and white birch occasionally, gleaming, ghostlike, in the gloom. Silent, sinister recesses. At every crackling twig beneath their tread, Alan's heart leaped. The Indians of this forest could glide through it soundlessly. Alan felt a dozen times that he and Lentz were being stalked. "Where are we, Lentz? Wait a minute." They crossed perilously on the top of a fallen tree, which spanned a deep ravine. Lentz waited at its end for Alan to come. Lentz whispered: "Let me help you." There was an instant when it flashed to Alan that Lentz might push him off. Alan drew back. "Move on--I'll get down."