The trail passed from the open fields ofcorn and buckwheat to the birches fringing the forestland, and on toward thedwindling region of local badland. The Master observed the markers that thecrazies placed and periodically resurveyed. Unlike the average person, he hadno superstitions, no fear of these. He knew that it was radiation that madethese areas deadly-Roentgen left from the fabled Blast. Every year there wasless of it, and the country at the fringe of the badlands became habitable forplant, animal and man. He knew that so long as the native life was healthy,there was little danger from radiation.

      But there were other terrors in thefringe. Tiny shrews swarmed periodically, consuming all animals in their pathand devouring each other when nothing else offered. Large white moths came outat night, their stings deadly. And there were wild tales told by firelight, ofstrange haunted buildings, armored bones, and living machines. The Master didnot credit much of this and sought some reasonable explanation for what he didcredit. But he did know the badlands were dangerous, and he entered them withcaution.

      The traces skirted the heart of theradioactive area, staying a mile or so within the crazy boundary. This told theMaster something else important: that the creature he hunted was not some-supernatural spook from the deep horror-region, but an animal of the fringe,leary of radiation. That meant he could run it down in time.

      For two days he followed the trail thecheerful hound sniffed out. He fed the dog and himself from his pack,occasionally bringing down a rabbit with an arrow and cooking it whole as amutual treat. He slept on the open ground, well covered. This was late summer,and the warm crazy sleeping-bag sufficed. He had a spare, in case. He ratherenjoyed the trek, and did not push the pace.

      On the evening of the second day he foundit. The hound bayed and raced ahead-then yelped and ran back, frightened.