"We are ready to perform the bilasim tewol," Chester said. His voice held no trace of doubt or uncertainty. "Kasan will assist me, but it is my power that beckons. Hear me 0 Gods, hear me Jesus­Manup. We strive f or your people. I know that our actions are righteous in your sight. Do not let our brave priest's death be a useless one. We are desperate with need, yet we destroy vital sup­plies to demonstrate our faith."

On cue, Bowan the Black said, "Fire!" The aura around his right hand blazed from green to red; flame shot forth to touch the table. Like the Biblical burning bush, the jerky and chocolate and aging tin cans blazed up without being consumed, and without scorching the skirt.

"We have shown our faith. Give us now that which we need to harness the strength in these weapons." Henderson was still speak­ing when the air began to shimmer. Three ghosts took shape:

translucent caucasians in jungle camouflage uniforms. Their faces were pasty, and one of them bore a gruesome open slash along the side of his face, a machete wound, perhaps.

"Who are you?" Chester demanded imperiously. There was a moaning crackle of sound, and one of the three worked its mouth without words. Finally noises came from the withered throat.

"We're... your kind..."

"Americans, yes. How did you die?"

The one with the machete-scar answered this time, coughing out his words in jerky phrases. "We died to take... the Cargo back. You'll die too. All of you. You..." There was a pause, and the pale and whiskery dead mouth worked wordlessly until sound stuttered forth again. "You don't know what you're up against."

"Help us," the Lore Master demanded. "You must. Give us the guns."

"The guns were ours-" The gaping slit in the spirit's face began to bleed dark sludge. "But the Ford stole a secret weapon. It might have beat... the Japs... if it hadn't come so late. Now the Fore have it. We were sent with guns to take it back. Guns! No damn use against magic. We died in this... stinking jungle

but in our last breaths we cursed the guns. Cursed them. so that they'll kill anyone who uses them."

"Remove the curse. We need them. With them, we will win you your vengeance."

The spirits seemed to confer with each other, then Machete-Wound answered their request. "You're being... stupid. You'll see. But we were... stupid too. You can have your... heroes' deaths. Take the guns. Kill as many Ford... as you can... be­fore you die..." The spirits faded with the voice. A final "Give ‘em hell..." hung in the vacant air.

Chester cast a precautionary "Reveal danger" spell before giv­ing the go-ahead. Gina was sympathetic. "You forgot to check the guns themselves, last time, Ches. After the outside of the box showed green you didn't worry about it."

"You're right. But that's the last easy point Lopez is getting from me, you can count on that!"

Tony and S.J. carried handguns now. Kagoiano had one of the rifles, and Dark Star carried the other slung over one freckled shoulder. The other two handguns were packed neatly away. "Let's move," Chester called out, and the column moved on.

McWhirter slapped the pistol at his side heartily as he moved

up next to Oliver. "You know, I feel like a new man with this thing on my side. Urn-the bullets aren't real, are they? I mean, those shots looked awfully real to me."

Oliver seemed a little irritated. "No, they're not real. But it's still not a good idea to set one off next to somebody's ear. Even a blank can hurt your eardrums."

"Right." He watched Gwen's hand find its way to Oliver's arm, and jealousy showed in his face. His eyes flicked back toward Acacia, who guarded the rear with Alan Leigh.

Ollie caught it. "You know, those bullets aren't real, but I know something that is, and you're playing with it right now."

Tony pursed his mouth. He didn't need to ask what the chunky warrior meant.

"Listen, Tony-"

"Fortunato, thank you. You're Oliver, I'm Fortunato, right? And we're off to steal what sounds like an atomic bomb, an exper­imental one at that. All crazies in this camp."

"Go ahead, play games with her feelings, Tony. She may have hurt your feelings last night, but it wasn't on purpose, and she thought she was doing you a favor. You're hurting her on pur­pose."

Tony brushed a springy branch out of his face as he walked, and said, "The ground's really getting marshy. We'll have to watch for quagmires."

Oliver was disgusted. "All right, Fortunato. I just don't see how your macho could be wounded all that badly."

"Watch out for snakes."

Gwen released Oliver's arm and stretched out a hand for Tony. He skittled out of her reach, but he was grinning now. She stuck her tongue out at him and snuggled back up against Oliver.

Tony set his long chin bravely and dropped back in line to where Acacia kept vigilant watch, her hand never straying far from her sword. She pretended not to notice him.

"How goes the rear guard, Panthesilea?" he asked noncha­lantly. She made a noncommittal sound, studiedly looking the other way. He matched strides with her for several steps, trying to read her expression. "Listen, hon, I'm sorry about last night." She flickered an eyelash in his direction, and he was encouraged. "My pride just got hurt a little, that's all. Hey, it's hell being a man. The burden of carrying my ego around everywhere I go is enough

to make me old before my time. Hey, Panth, at least look at a poor soul when he's humbling himself before you."

"I don't think you can keep up with us on your knees, so just keep walking. I guess I'll get over it." The frost was thawing, but there was still a distinct coolness in her voice.

"Believe me-mind if I take your arm? I mean, it's not doing anything right now, and looked kind of lonely-I'll make it up to you. Tonight, if you'll let me."

At first there was no real response, then he felt an answering in­ward pressure from her arm. "Is that right?"

"You bet. Moonlight, soft breezes, and a warm bedroll. Mos­quitoes courtesy of Cowles Industries."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Not like last night, eh?"

"So I was ofT sulking in the bushes. Sorry about that. You weren't in your hut last night either."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, there are some very attrac­tive men on this expedition." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Very attractive. Some of whom know how to treat a lady."

"When they can find one-just kidding. Aw, Cas, you know I can't handle this kind of thing very well. What say we call it a truce."

"Agreed." She slipped her hand down to his, and squeezed, feeling a little knot of tension dissolve in her stomach. Her new­found feeling of relaxation brought an automatic smile to her face, and Tony pointed at it.

"Now what's that for?"

She gave him a little-girl laugh, wishing there was somewhere that they could go to curl up together and get it out of their sys­tems.

"By the way," Tony said thoughtfully, "where were you last night?"

A shout from the front nullified that question. Tony's hand found its way to his holstered pistol in a blink, and he had to run to keep up with Acacia, who was in motion instantly.

The ground was extremely moist, now, and every footstep sank an inch into the muck. Reeds and fernlike plants abounded, and in the areas where water had seeped out of the ground to form pud­dles, islands of green scum floated. Someone shouted, "Help!" up ahead, and Tony realized that he had heard that cry twice before, too faint to register consciously. Another monster? An attack by the Ford, whatever the hell they were?

He almost bumped into Acacia's back, so suddenly did she skid to a halt. She was bent over, trembling, and at first he was afraid for her. Then he heard the laughter and knew it was all right.