But within the limited medical resources of colony and ship, the board showed all green, and it seemed likely to him that Dora bad become pregnant about twenty minutes after their informal muleback wedding.

The thought had passed through his mind that Dora might have been pregnant even sooner-but the thought was merely an amusing whimsy that bothered him not at all. Smith felt certain that he had had the Cuckoo in his nest more than once over the centuries; he had been especially careful to be a loving father to such children and had kept his mouth shut. He believed in letting women lie all they needed to, and never taxing them with it. But he believed also that Dora was incapable of this sort of lie. If Dora had been pregnant and aware of it, she might have asked to be allowed to say good-bye to him on her back-but she would have asked for exactly that. Not for a child.

No matter- If the darling had made a mistake earlier and did not know it, he felt sure that she would nevertheless have a superior baby. She was clearly superior stock herself-he, wished he had known the Brandons; they must have been ichiban-and their daughter was, as Helen had once said, "choosy." Dora would, not bed with an oaf even for fun, because, being what she was, she would not find it fun. Smith was sure that it would take rape to put an inferior child into Dora-and the rapist might sing soprano the rest of his days; her Uncle Gibbie had taught her some dirty tricks.

The pregnant sow was Smith's "calendar." If they failed to reach a spot suitable for homesteading by the time that sow littered, then they turned back that very day-no hesitation, no regrets-as that would leave them just half of Dora's pregnancy to get them back to Separation and other people."

The sow rode in the back end of the second wagon, with a sling to keep her from falling down. The dogs trotted under the wagons, or ranged aside, warning of lopers or other hazards. The cats did as they pleased, as cats do, walking or riding as suited them. The nanny and billy goats stayed close to the wheel pair; the two kids were large enough to skitter along most of the time but were privileged to ride when they tired-a loud Me-e-e-eh from the mother goat would cause Smith to swing down and hand the tired baby up to Dora. The chickens complained in a double cage over the sow's pen. The mules running free had no duties other than to keep eyes out for lopers, save that Buck was at all times grand marshal of the parade, picking the footing, bossing the other mules, carrying out Smith's orders. Mules at liberty rotated as draft animals; only Buck was never in harness. Betty and Beulah had had their feelings hurt at being required to accept harness; they were gentry of the saddle, and they knew it. But Buck had had harsh words with them and harsher nips and kicks; they had shut up and hauled.

No real driving was required; only two reins were used, one to each of the lead pair and running from them back through rings on the collars of the following mules to the seat of the leading wagon, there usually loosely secured rather than held. Although the males were all stallions, these mules did what Buck ordered. Smith had stopped at Separation and lost most of a day to trade a strong brute with good shoulders for a younger, lighter stud because the bigger mule had not been willing to accept Buck's dominance. Buck was ready to fight it out, but Smith did not let the old mule risk it; he needed Buck's brain and judgment, and would not risk Buck's spirit being broken by losing to a younger stallion-or take a chance that Buck might be injured.

In real trouble more reins would not help. If the mules panicked and ran-unlikely but possible-two humans could not hold them, even with a double handful of reins. Smith was ready at any instant to pick off his lead pair, then hope that not too many mules would break legs stumbling over the corpses and pray that the wagons would not overturn.

Smith wanted to reach their destination with all his livestock; he hoped to get there with about 80 percent including a breeding pair of each sort-but if they arrived with, enough draft animals to pull the wagons (including at least one breeding pair) plus a pair of goats, he could consider it a conditional victory and they would make their stand, to live or to die.

How many mules were "enough" was a variable. Near the end of the trip it could be as low as four-then go back and get the second wagon. But if the number of mules dropped below twelve before they conquered Hopeless Pass-turn back.

Turn back at once. Abandon one or both wagons, jettison what they could not salvage, slaughter any animals that could not make it without help, travel light with any extra mules trailing along, unwitting walking larders.

If Woodrow Wilson Smith limped back into Separation on foot, his wife riding-miscarried but still alive-it still would not be defeat. He had his hands, he bad his brain, he had the strongest of human incentives: a wife to care for and cherish. In a few years they might try Hopeless Pass again-and not make the mistakes he had made the first time.

In the meantime he was happy, with all the wealth any man could hope for.

Smith leaned out Of the wagon seat. "Hey, Buck! Supper."

"Shupper dime," Buck repeated, then called out, "Shupper dime! Shirko nigh! Shirko nigh!" The lead pair turned left, started bringing the train around in a circle.

Dora said, "The Sun is still high"

"Yes," her husband agreed, "and that's why. The Sun is high, it's very hot, the mules are tired and sweaty and hungry and thirsty. I want them to graze. Tomorrow we'll be up before dawn and rolling at first light-make as many kilometers as possible before it gets too bloody hot. Then another early stop."

"I wasn't questioning it, dear; I simply wanted to know why. I'm finding that being a schoolmarm hasn't taught me all I need to know to be a pioneer wife."

"I understood; that's why I explained. Dora, always ask me if I do anything you don't understand; you do have to know...because if something happens to me, then it'll be up to you. Just hold your questions until later if I seem to be in a hurry."

"I'll try, Woodrow-I am trying. I'm hot and thirsty myself; those poor dears must be feeling it dreadfully. If you can spare me, I'll water them while you unharness."

"No, Dora."

"But- Sorry."

"Damn it, I said always to ask why. But I was about to explain. First we let them graze an hour. That will cool them down some in spite of the Sun, and, being thirsty, they'll look for short green stuff under this tall dry stuff. They will get a little moisture out of that. Meantime I'm' going to measure the water barrels, but I know that we're going on short water rations. Should've yesterday. Dorable, you see that patch of dark green way up there below the pass? I think there water there, dry as it's been...and pray hard that there is, because I don't expect to find water between here and there. We may have no water at all the last day or so. It doesn't take a mule long to die without water and not much longer for a man."

"Woodrow, is it as bad as that?"

"It is, dear. That's why I've been studying the photomaps. The clearest ones Andy and I made a long time ago, when we surveyed this planet-but in early spring for this hemisphere. The shots Zack took for me aren't much; the Andy J. isn't equipped as a survey ship. As may be, I took this route because it looked faster. But every wash we've crossed the past ten days has been bone dry. My mistake and it may be my last one."

"Woodrow! Don't talk that way!"

"Sorry, dear. But there is always a last mistake. I'll do my damndest to see that this is not my last mistake-because it must not happen to you. I'm simply trying to impress you with how carefully we must conserve water."