CHAPTER VIIIThe Mink he seeks the gentrylass;
He eyes the gods above;
He laughs their might to scorn, the while
He hunts his highborn love.
A fearsome lion bars the way,
The Mink he cannot pass;
He lifts his pick with fearful rage,
And blood besmears the grass!
—Ruck’s Ballad of the Mink
* * * *
Revel was plowing through the brush like a wound-crazed bear. Jerran came behind, shouting directions, for Revel’s impatience would not be stilled enough for him to follow anyone, especially the small Jerran, whose head rang, he said, from the skull-cracking blow he’d been given by Rack, and who was slowed as a consequence.
Revel got farther and farther in advance, tearing with his pick at vines and creepers, trampling small trees, making enough noise for seven men. Dimly he remembered m
