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22

           

           "I’mokay,"hesaid,althoughhewasnearlyoutofbreathandhismusclesthrobbedfromtheweightofChurchinthebag.

           ...forty-two...forty-three...forty-four...

           "Forty-five,"Judsaid."I’veforgot.Haven’tbeenuphereintwelveyears,Iguess.Don’tsupposeI’lleverhaveareasontocomeagain.Here...upyoucomeandupyouget."

           HegrabbedLouis’sarmandhelpedhimupthelaststep.

           "We’rehere,"Judsaid.

           Louislookedaround.Hecouldseewellenough;thestarlightwasdimbutadequate.Theywerestandingonarocky,rubble-strewnplateofrockwhichslidoutofthethinearthdirectlyaheadlikeadarktongue.Lookingtheotherway,hecouldseethetopsofthefirtreestheyhadcomethroughinordertoreachthesteps.Theyhadapparentlyclimbedtothetopofsomeweird,flat-toppedmesa,ageologicalanomalythatwouldhaveseemedfarmorenormalinArizonaorNewMexico.Becausethegrassed-overtopofthemesaorhill,ortruncatedmountain,orwhateveritwaswasbareoftrees,thesunhadmeltedthesnowhere.TurningbacktoJud,Louissawdrygrassesbendingbeforethesteadywindthatblewcoldlyinhisface,andsawthatitwasahill,notanisolatedmesa.Aheadofthemthegroundroseagaintowardtrees.Butthisflatnesswassoobvious,andsooddinthecontextofNewEngland’slowandsomehowtiredhills

           Tool-bearingIndians,hismindsuddenlyspokeup.

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