The three of them--O'Neill, Teal'c, and Carter--bellied their way up the bank of the deep ravine. They peered over the edge, just in time to see a rope being pulled down over Daniel's head. And he was at least 400 yards away, on a simple altar in the middle of a wide, open plain.

Five filthy, swarthy men stood with him. Four of them surrounded him like points of a compass. The fifth soon sat with a drum between his legs and beat out a complex, mesmerizing rhythm.

The archeologist had been right about the inhabitants of this moon. They were of Celtic origin.

And according to the stone tablet almost buried in undergrowth near the Stargate, they practiced human sacrifice to worship their god Esus. "But that was probably long ago," he had said. "When they ran out of people to sacrifice…"

"Crap. I oughta let 'em hang you, Daniel. Serve you right for wandering away," muttered O'Neill.

"Sir," Carter whispered in horrified protest.

"Easy there, Captain. We'll get him out alive and maybe a few inches taller. He owes me five bucks."

"I don't see how." As a reluctant afterthought, she added, "Sir."

O'Neill rapidly evaluated the situation. Daniel's captors, though their attention was centered on their intended victim, were armed with crude machine guns and shotguns that were placed ready for use. O'Neill shifted his position slightly. He glanced at Teal'c when he heard the Jaffa prime his staff weapon. "Mine, Teal'c."

The Jaffa nodded once, his perpetual frown unchanging, and powered down his weapon.

"Colonel, you can't possibly make it there in time. There's no cover --"

"Captain, there are always alternatives," O'Neill interrupted. "At least, that's what Spock says."

Dear God, she thought, the man is following the tenets of a freaking TV character. My commanding officer is nuts.

Teal'c scowled mildly, tilting his head on hearing the familiar name. He recalled O'Neill mentioning him several times in their brief association. I must learn more about this Spock. He appears to be wise and worthy of ColonelO'Neill's respect.

O'Neill turned back to Daniel and the others. The rope was now firmly settled around his neck, and O'Neill knew the scientist would be talking a blue streak, trying to convince the natives that he had come in peace.

Then he heard, "JACK!"

Digging his knees into the soft earth, O'Neill sat back on his heels. His torso rose over the ravine's rim. In one movement, he raised his MP-5 to his shoulder, flicked the trigger unit to single shot, and aimed at the drummer.

Carter watched her CO closely, but could discern nothing specific in his actions except grace, speed, and subtlety; counted five tightly grouped shots; smelled the smoke of death. She looked to Daniel, pleased to see he was the only one standing. And probably the only one breathing. She looked back to O'Neill, who now stood on the gorge's edge. His eyes were black, rimmed with only a sliver of dark brown. He was preternaturally calm. She shivered, unsure whether to be scared or grateful.

"Don't worry, Carter. My lunacy doesn't come with a God complex," he said flippantly.

"You're…Special Forces." She said it evenly, without a hint of her embarrassment or fright showing.

"Ya think?" he came back just as evenly.

"You heard what I said…"

O'Neill raised his eyebrows briefly to validate her suspicion. "Come on, let's get Daniel and bug outta here. I don't like wearing neckties and I'm guessing Daniel doesn't either anymore...now. If he ever did."

"ColonelO'Neill, I believe that is a rope around DanielJackson's neck, not a necktie."

"Teal'c, I think it's time you watch your first Western." He turned away and started walking briskly toward Jackson and the altar. "Hurry up, kids. Don't want you playing on the edge. Not safe out there. Only for crazy people." He finally Cheshire-cat-smiled, now that there was no chance of Carter seeing it.