It was getting dark and I was starting to light the fire, using my lighter, when I was suddenly aware that I was not alone. I dropped the Marlin into my hands and whirled to face the figure standing quietly some fifty yards away. The man began to advance slowly, raising one arm in greeting, and I lowered the gun. His face, all but hidden beneath the low, furred hood of his parka, revealed weathered skin, small eyes and the flat, wide cheekbones of the Nepalese people. His legs were encased in yards of cloth, and goatskin boots covered his feet. The man walked up to me and spoke in halting English.
"You wait for guide," he said. My eyebrows went up.
"You aren't due for hours," I said.
"Me early," he answered. "You go to Leeunghi family?"
I nodded, and he motioned with a wave of his arm to follow.
"Long trip," he said. "Me come early. Make much time by night this way."
I shrugged. It had been my understanding that night travel through the pass was especially dangerous, but I wasn't equipped to argue the point. Besides, I hadn't relished the idea of spending most of the night alone by the fire in the vast emptiness of the pass with only the howling wind to keep me company. That is, if I were lucky. There were no doubt wolves in this area. And, I smiled to myself, there was always the yeti, the abominable snowman. I cast a backward glance at my unlighted pyramid of wood and followed after my guide. He moved with the surefootedness of the tahrs and I found myself scrambling and slipping to stay a reasonable distance behind him. He set a path that took us out of the pass at the first cut and climbed upwards, scrambling over slippery ice-covered cliffsides and along narrow ledges. Night fell, and we continued upwards in the darkness and then, with a special magic of its own, the moon came up and reflected an ice-blue brilliance from the snow and glacial formations. The blackness of the rocks was a startling contrast to the snow, and as I looked out over the wildness it had the angularity and sharp, etched pattern of a Duchamps or a Mondrian canvas. I could see my guide clearly now, just ahead of me, and we had come to a fairly broad ledge of rock.
"We rest here," he grunted, leaning back against the ice-covered wall of rock rising up from the one side of the ledge. I knelt, set down my pack, and gazed in awe at the magnificence of the sight stretching before my eyes, an awesome beauty that not even the bitter cold could dispel.
Hawk was fond of saying that a top agent in this grim, nasty business had to have the experience of an octagenarian, the reflexes of a cat, the nerves of a trapeze artist and the psychic ability of a clairvoyant. If he wanted to stay alive, that is. The psychic part I'd always found especially true, and suddenly it came true again. The hair on the back of my neck was not too frozen to stand suddenly, and I felt it rise as I sat on my haunches looking out at the awesome panorama. I whirled just as he came at me, both arms outstretched to push me headlong over the edge. I had only one chance and I took it, diving to the ground and grabbing his leg. He toppled, falling over me, and we both narrowly missed rolling over the edge. I got one leg up enough to push myself forward and I slid out from under him. But he was, as I'd already seen, part mountain goat, and he was on his feet and atop me, driving me back with the force of his attack. I felt my footing go out from under me on a stretch of ice and I went down. His hands were reaching for my throat, strong hands with powerful arms. I got a heel into a crack in the rock and pushed. He rolled to one side as I threw him off. I crossed a right and felt it bounce harmlessly off the heavy fur edge of his hood.
I scrambled to my feet as he regained his, and now I saw him move warily toward me. The first surprise attack had sent the rifle skittering off along the ledge and Wilhelmina was buried under my parka and sweater. The tight wristlets of the parka kept me from dropping Hugo into my palm. His small eyes were but glittering pinpoints in the moonlight, and his arms held half outstretched gave no sign of what his next move would be. I shifted my glance to his feet, saw him shift his weight to his right foot, move forward and try a grab for me. I ducked to the left and swung. This time I connected and he went backwards and down, sliding hard into the stone back of the ledge. I went after him and my foot flew out from under me on a piece of ice-coated rock. I fell, grabbed at the edge and pushed myself back from it. He was on his feet again and aiming a kick at my head. I managed to avoid it, grabbed his foot and yanked, and he came down hard beside me. We grappled, and I pushed him back away from the edge, but he was wiry and fought with a deadly desperation. I tried a karate chop along the side of his neck but the thickness of his parka deadened the effect. He tore himself from my grip, whirled away and when he turned, I saw the glint of the moon on the long, curved knife blade. He came in fast and slashed down with the curved blade. It tore a gaping hole in the front of my parka that ran the entire length of the garment. I fell back as he slashed again with the blade, wickedly bringing it down in a hook, and once again I felt it slash into the bulky parka. He had ruined the parka but he'd also opened a convenient hole in it I reached through, yanked Wilhelmina out and fired. He was coming at me again when the big 9mm slugs hit him, and he stiffened, staggered backwards and collapsed. He was dead before I walked over to him.
I searched him but found nothing. His parka was too small to fit me but it would do to stuff into the gaping holes he'd slashed in mine. I stripped it from his lifeless form and stuffed it into the front of my own where the bitter wind had already found its way through.
I had little choice but to try and make my way back to where I'd started to build a fire in the pass. To go on would mean becoming hopelessly lost and risking certain death. As I began to pick my way back carefully, trying to remember the way we'd come, I wondered whether the real guide who was to meet me would eventually show up. They had gotten their assassin to reach me early, but maybe they'd also slain the real guide. I could do nothing but wait and see. I retrieved the rifle from where it had skittered away and proceeded downward once again, retracing our route with only a few minor mistakes. My little pyramid of wood was still there, undisturbed, and I managed to get the fire going quickly, reveling in its warmth. I huddled by the fire while the wind mounted in intensity as the night deepened, and I dozed off a few times. I was wakened once by the howl of a snow leopard prowling the blackness of the night.
It was past midnight when I heard the faint sound of footsteps on the snow, a soft, crunching sound. I slithered back out of the circle of light made by the fire and brought the big Marlin around, my finger on the trigger. Peering into the moonlit pass I saw the figure approaching slowly. I waited until the figure, also bundled up in furred hat and thick parka, neared the fire, and then I moved forward, rifle aimed at it.