The flyer proceeded: over mountains and forests, lakes and wide rivers; majestic vistas unfolded, one after the other.

At noon the land rose to become a wide upland, dotted with small lakes. Far to the west a mountain range of twenty lofty peaks dwindled away to north and south.

Glawen pointed below, to wisps of smoke rising from beside a forest.

"There's a banjee camp now. The fires, incidentally, are neither for cooking nor for warmth, but to boil up the glue which they use to fabricate their helmets and armor."

"How far now to Mad Mountain?"

"You can see it ahead: that old volcano with the shattered peak. We're flying over the Plain of Moans. There's Lake Dimple, down to the right."

Five minutes later the flyer settled upon the landing pad to the side of the lodge. The four alighted and climbed a short flight of steps to| the terrace at the front of the lodge.

The four entered the lobby: a tall room with red, white and black rugs on the stone floor. Banjee artifacts were everywhere to be seen:

battle-axes arranged in a crescent pattern over the fireplace; a dozen weirdly beautiful helmets on a rack;

spheres and tablets of polished malachite, cinnabar, nephrite and milk opal, each about three inches in diameter, in a case at the registration desk. The clerk noticed Wayness' interest.

"Those are banjee magic stones. Don't ask me how to use them; I don't know."

"Are they for sale?"

"From a hundred sols for the cinnabar to five hundred for the nephrite to a thousand for the milk opal."

The four were assigned rooms; at the same time photographs were made of each.

The clerk explained: "The hall yonder leads to the dining room; it is also the gallery where we display pictures of guests who have been killed by the banjees. If you should be so unlucky, we prefer to hang the 'before' picture rather than the 'after' especially since the gallery is on the way to the dining room."

"Ridiculous!" said Julian.

"Shall we have lunch?"

"Give me time to wash my face," said Wayness.

The four met on the terrace, and went to stand by the balustrade which overlooked the Plain of Moans. Milo asked:

"Where is this notorious battlefield?"

"Just down there, almost below us," said Glawen.

"See those parallel mounds, or rows, running across the plain? They are detritus cast aside by banjee hordes over thousands and thousands of years. They mark the migration routes. One route goes east to west, another north to south, and they cross just below the lodge. When the hordes collide, they don't act like gentlemen, but hit each other with axes."

"For a fact, it does seem rather pointless," said Wayness.

"It's absurd and disgraceful, and it ought to be stopped," said Julian.

"An overpass should solve the problem nicely," said Milo.

"Although, I must say, the routes are remarkably wide."

"Easily a hundred yards across," said Glawen.

Julian stood frowning down at the battlefield. Wayness asked gently:

"Did you know that the routes were so wide?"

Julian gave his head a curt shake.

"This is my first visit to Mad Mountain, as you must know. Let's have our lunch."

The four were seated at a table, and lunch was served.

"Perhaps we can help Julian with his calculations," said Milo.

"The overpass should be a hundred yards wide, in order to match the route. The span will also be at least a hundred yards, with a clearance of--how much clearance are you planning, Julian?"

"Really, I haven't given the matter serious thought."

"A clearance of forty feet will allow the banjees to march below without dipping their lances. If Julian designs his ramps with a six percent grade, each approach will be about seven hundred feet long. Julian, how many cubic yards of material do you think you will require for your ramps?"

"I haven't gone anywhere near that far in my thinking. An overpass may or may not be the optimum approach. I am here to discover if a practical solution exists."

Wayness spoke in a soothing voice.

"Don't let Milo's foolishness disturb you. You do your surveys and think and plan as much as you like, and we'll keep out of your way.

Glawen, what do you suggest for this afternoon?"

"We can walk up Mad Mountain. There are some interesting ruins along the way: a stone platform and what seems to have been a tower. Archaeologists think they were built by an extinct tribe of banjees. You'll also see some blue darters.

They pretend to be flowers so that they can catch insects.

Tourists who try to pick them run into trouble. First, the blue darter spits on them, then shrieks and finally throws off its decoration, curls up its tail and stings."

"Interesting. What else?"

"You'll probably see rock orchids with glass flowers and creeping arbutus, which moves about planting its own seeds.

Farynxes live up the mountain. They hunt in a most ingenious fashion. One hides in the bushes; the other lies on its back and exudes the odor of carrion which presently attracts a scavenger bird. The hidden farynx makes a quick leap and both dine on fowl."

"You still haven't told us why it's called Mad Mountain."

"The story doesn't amount to much. A crotchety old gentleman came tottering down the trail shouting, "The mountain is mad!" It seems that he had gone up to study the ruins. Along the way he picked a blue darter which spit into his beard, stung his hand, screamed and ran away. He sat down on a creeping arbutus, which squirmed out

from under him. He came upon what appeared to be a sick farynx,|3 about to be torn apart by a fine fat corbalbird.

From the kindness of|| his heart, the old man chased away the bird, and both farynxes jumped's at him and bit his leg.