The piping notes were making him more and more uncomfortable. Now he wasn’t at all certain they came from a bird. They were too high, too piercing, too demanding. Where were they coming from, and why?

He brought the Black to a stop. All he had to do was turn back. Yet he was reluctant to do so. He wanted to find out where the path led and what another horse and rider were doing there.

The notes ended and there was nothing but the great silence again. Alec couldn’t analyze the way he felt. He would have liked to believe it was all nonsense, but it wasn’t. There was something about the notes, something he didn’t understand but that might be made clear if he went on. He moved the Black forward.

Once he thought he saw something gliding overhead, high in the trees and obscured by the heavy Spanish moss. It appeared to be white—perhaps a broad-winged wood ibis nesting in the trees—but he couldn’t be sure in the misty, shimmering heat. At any rate, he heard no more notes and was glad of it.

The path ended at a narrow channel of dark water. The opposite side of the stream had been cleared of wild reeds, and in the muck Alec saw the footprints of a man and a horse!

There was no turning back now, he knew. The winding dark water was like a slithering snake, but it was shallow enough to ford without swimming. There was no sign of any alligators and it would take only a few seconds to cross.

There was no need to coax the Black into the water. He went forward, wading with Alec through the shallows. He was eager to keep going, but Alec brought him to a stop on the other side and placed a gentle hand upon the stallion’s nose. Alec’s instincts told him that he must proceed with the utmost caution. There was no reason to fear the presence of another horse and rider, but until he found out what they were doing there, it was best to be careful.

The path became increasingly difficult, leading through twisting vines that only recently had been cut to clear the way. On either side was a forbidding fortress of winding tendrils, wrapped about tree trunks and locked in a continuous mesh that defied all but the sharpest machetes. Even now the vines had begun the work of reclosing the gap across the shell path.

Alec felt uneasy at the jungle net closing in on him. He told himself that he could turn back any time he wanted, that he did not have to go farther if he felt it was not worth the risk.

The upper branches of huge trees and the thick shrouds of Spanish moss hid the sun, leaving him in a world of dusk. But despite his apprehension, he was determined to go on. How long ago had he left the farm? Only this morning? His contact with it seemed to have faded away.

It was as if he were living in another world, one as timeless as the swamp itself. He felt out of place, and yet for a reason he could not understand, much less explain, a strong motivation compelled him to complete what had become an urgent mission. It drove him onward.

Finally the shell path came to an abrupt end. But it was not the end of his journey. The vines in the area had been cut away completely and there was sufficient room between the trees for him to continue. He led the Black forward.

A few minutes later he came in sight of a large clearing.