Hammer roared, the bellow of a pain-crazed bull, as the mob raged toward him. A horse reared as its outlaw rider was yanked from the saddle. Two slugging blows, and Hammer had cleared a way to the mount. He sprang upon its back, howling, and the attackers fell away from his insane charge.

Almost, he made it. He was on the edge of the square when a man whose brother had been killed made a long jump and grabbed the horse’s bridle—grabbed it, and hung on till a dozen men held the gang boss secured.

Only one or two outlaws escaped. The rest, with the town in no mood for trials, were hanged that afternoon. Hammer asked not to be blindfolded, and they granted him that much. To the end, he stood looking out over the sun-glittering river, the rolling tree-clad hills, and the fair broad land green to harvest.

Wayne took no part in the executions. He had other things to think about.

* * *

After the celebrations, the unending parades and parties and speeches, the reorganization and the defense tightening, there was a rather grim conference in Wayne’s house. He and Karen were there, seated together before the fire, and Alaric sat opposite them, nervous and bewildered. A government representative was present, a lean man who looked older than he was, Robert Boyd by name and roving presidential agent by profession. In the corner, shadow-cloaked and unnoticed, squatted the shaggy troll-shape of the dog, his sullen eyes brooding redly on the others.

“You’ve heard the official account,” said Wayne, “Alaric, a mutant idiot savant, invented and built a weapon to defeat the outlaws. He’s been much made of, and nobody pays any attention to Pop Hanson—he’s the powerhouse watchman, and was rather rudely treated. One must make allowance for the eccentricity of genius, or so they say.”

“Well, one must,” nodded Boyd.

“Hardly. If so many of our people hadn’t died, I’d say this was a good thing. It taught us not to be complacent and careless. More important, it at least indicated that mutants can serve society as talented members.” Wayne’s eyes were haggard. “Only, you see, Al didn’t behave like a genius. He acted like a low-grade moron.”

“Inventing that—”

“Yes, going all around Robin Hood’s barn, committing violence and theft, working like a slave, risking his neck, all to build that weapon and use it. But he told me his dog warned him hours ahead of time. Certainly he was at the powerhouse early. Don’t you see, we could have been ready for the outlaws, we could have stood them off, driven their ill-armed force away with no loss to us if Alaric had merely gone to the police with that warning.”

Thunderstruck, Boyd swung his, eyes to meet the blue vacancy of Alaric’s. “Why …why didn’t you?”

The boy stared, slowly focusing his vision and mind, face twisted with effort. He…his father had told him the day before…what was it now? Yes—“I … didn’t …think of it,” he fumbled.