"I can't help if it the moss grows on the wrong side of the trees here."
"Moss always grows on the north side."
"Only white man's moss," Wolfshy said with dignity.
Remo sighed and started up the hill. It was nearly sunset, and the shadows were deepening. The temperature at the high elevation was considerably colder than it had been in the sun-washed foothills.
Behind him Chiun walked regally through the dense forest, his blue robe fluttering in the breeze. Sam Wolfshy was still back at the car, struggling to strap a knapsack full of provisions onto his back.
"Which path do we take?" Remo called from a granite outcropping beside a fork in the trail.
"Uh, left," Sam said. "No, I think we ought to go right. Well, actually there's something to be said for both directions."
"You're the most indecisive human being I've ever met!" Remo exploded.
"I'm just open-minded," the Indian said, hurt.
"Don't you have a map?"
"I don't need a map. I'm a full-blooded Kanton."
Remo sputtered, then forced himself to calm down. "All right, Sam. Have it your way. But if we get lost again, I'm going to see to it that you're not a full-blooded anything, got it?"
"Well, I do happen to have a little map," Wolfshy said, reaching into his coat. "Harry was kind enough to loan it to me."
Remo snatched it from him. "This is a road map," he yelled. "What good is this going to do us? The nearest road is twenty miles away."
"There are things on here besides roads. Look." Wolfshy pointed to a pink splotch. "Here are the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. That's where we are."
"No kidding," Remo said, crumpling the map into a ball and throwing it as far as he could. "It's already getting dark. We'll never find our way to the monastery before tomorrow."
"Look, why don't we just make the best of things?" Wolfshy suggested. "We're in a kind of clearing here. I'll build a fire and cook up some supper. Then, after a good night's rest, we can make our way to the top of the range tomorrow. We won't have to go up much farther before we can see the mission." He smiled. "How does that sound?"
"Do you always have to be so damned cheerful?" Remo growled. "It's getting on my nerves."
"Sorry." Wolfshy arranged some sticks inside a circle of stones for a fire. "Say, could I borrow a match?"
Without speaking, Remo picked up a small gray stone and spun it toward the unlit fire. The stone first struck one rock, then the second and third, and continued around the circle, sending off shooting sparks each time it struck. The movement was so fast that, to Sam Wolfshy, the fire seemed to ignite spontaneously.
"Wow, that was really something," he said. "Maybe you're part Indian. Do you think I could learn that? I mean, it must be in my blood, right? I could—"
Inexplicably, he turned a double back flip, then landed in a sitting position.
Chiun was standing nearby, slapping his hands together as if to wipe dust from them. The expression on his face was sour. "Keep this person out of my sight," he said.
"He doesn't mean any harm," Remo whispered. "And we did ask him to be our guide."
"Guide? Hah. This mushroom-brained fool is incapable of guiding himself across a postage stamp. Also, he talks incessantly. He has no sense of direction. He is a stone around our necks. And today alone, he has asked to borrow sixty-four items from me."
"Yeah, he's a dipstick," Remo said. He looked past Chiun to the fire, where Wolfshy crouched, stirring the contents of a metal pot with a stick and singing "Old MacDonald," complete with sound effects, at the top of his voice. "But there's something about him I kind of like."
Wolfshy looked up and smiled. "Chow's ready," he called.
"At least he can cook," Remo said. With a snort, Chiun padded to the fire.
"Hope you guys are hungry," Wolfshy said, sniffing the air like some TV-show gourmet. "Doesn't that smell good?"
"What manner of foulness is that?" Chiun shrieked, pointing to the pot.
Wolfshy looked into the pot, then at Chiun, then back at the pot. "Beans," he said innocently. "Just baked beans. Very nourishing, if you don't mind a little gas."
"And those globs of fat?" The old man's long fingers quivered over the bubbling concoction.
"That's pork. It gives the beans more flavor. Here, have a taste."
Chiun slapped the stick out of the Indian's hand. "Remo, eliminate him."
"Calm down, Chiun," Remo said. "He was only—"
"Not only is he a brainless, worthless fool, but now he seeks to poison the Master of Sinanju by feeding him pork fat."
"Gosh, I wasn't…"
Remo silenced him with a gesture. He listened to the forest. There was a sound that did not belong.
Immediately, Chiun and Remo went to opposite sides of the clearing, and it came again: a faint rustle of leaves and the unmistakable crack of wood beneath a human foot.
Silently Remo darted into the forest. There was a flutter of activity and a muffled cry. When he reappeared, he was holding a small, dirty, unconscious woman in his arms.
"Who's that?" Wolfshy asked.
Remo set her on the ground. "How would I know? She tripped and knocked herself on the head before I could reach her."
"The garment she is wearing is disgusting," Chiun said, wrinkling his nose. "Perhaps she is a musician."
The woman groaned as she came to. As soon as she saw their faces, she flailed out with both her fists.
"Take it easy," Remo said, catching her hands in one of his. "Nobody's going to hurt you."
She looked around, her eyes wide and frightened. "You're not with them?" she whispered.
"Whoever 'they' are, we're not. You're safe."
"Thank God." She buried her face in Remo's chest and sobbed. "I made it. I got away."
Remo rocked her gently. Wherever she had been, it obviously hadn't been a picnic for her. "Can you tell me about it?"