“They can’t stay long,” she answered desperately. “The government…this is on the air route—”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. They must know they can’t remain, so why did they come here in the first place? Why not raid the lands closer to home? Well—we’ll have to see, that’s all.”

The—herd—of citizens entered the square and walked toward the little memorial in its center with the queer blind shuffle that cattle in a stockyard chute have. There were other outlaw guards posted around the square and on the memorial, weapons ready. The monument was a granite shaft with a stone bench on each side, and seated there—

Wayne did not remember the bearded giant, but Karen caught a sudden gasp of recognition. “It…it…Rod, it’s Hammer. Richard Hammer!”

“Eh?”

“Don’t you recall—the mechanic at the service station—we always used to get our gas there, and once when I smashed a fender on the car he fixed it so you wouldn’t notice—”

The chief heard them. There weren’t many people in the square yet, and the early sun struck dazzling off Karen’s hair. “Why, it’s Miz’ Wayne.” he said. “Howdy Miz’ Wayne.”

“H-h-hello,” faltered Karen.

“Lookin’ purtier ’n ever, too. Wayne, you had all the luck.”

The mathematician shouldered his way forward, suddenly weak with a dreadful clawing fear. “Hammer—what is this?” he got out.

‘‘I’m takin’ over Southvale. Meet y’r new boss.”

“You—” Wayne swallowed. He choked down the panic rising in him and said in a level, toneless voice: “I gather you’ve become chief of this band and led it back here for a raid. But—you must know you can’t get away with it. We’re on an airline route. The government will know.”

Hammer smiled wearily. “I’ve figgered all that out. I intend to stay here. I’m gatherin’ all the folks t’ tell ’em t’ be good, because we don’t mind killin’. But if y’re really interested—” He sketched his further plans.

“You’re crazy—it’s not possible.”

“A lot o’ less possible things have happened. If you all, not too far no’th, felt safe, what about the gov’ment ’way out in Oregon? We’ll do it!”

“But even if you can—Hammer, do you realize the government is the only link left with our past, our civilization? You’d throw man back a thousand years.”

“So what? Wayne, don’t you nor anybody else hand me none o’ that crap ’bout law an’ order an’ humanity. You’re fifteen years too late. You an’ your kind made us outlaws, drivin’ us away when we came starvin’ to you, houndin’ us south an’ then in your fat smugness forgettin’ about us. It’s been hard, Wayne, battle an’ death an’ hunger all those years. We had t’ get hard ourselves, t’ stay alive.”

“You could have stuck it out in the north as we did, and raised your own food free from most bandits.”

“Free only because so many people like us went south. Nor were most o’ us farmers, with land an’ equipment an’ experience. Anyway you did drive us out when you were strong. I ain’t blamin’ you. You had t’ live. But it’s our turn now, so shut up.” Hammer’s eaglesque eyes swung to Karen, he smiled. It was a winter-cold smile, warmth and humor had died long ago in him. “You, I’ll be seein’ more of,” he said. “It’s been so long—”