upon him and was walking away.
Mascola could stand no more.

"All right, Gregory," he called. "You go ahead and hire a scab crew.
Then you'll find out you're the same damn fool as your father."

Gregory whirled. Mascola's hand leaped to his side, burying itself in
the folds of his shirt. Before he could bring it out, Kenneth Gregory
was upon him.

His fist caught Mascola full on the chin. The Italian's head snapped
backward. His feet shot forward. He clutched at the air for support and
strove to regain his balance. Then he fell to the floor, rolled over
like a cat, and rebounded to his feet, snarling.

Gregory heard a warning cry from Barnes: "Look out! He's got a knife."

Barnes looked vainly about for a weapon as he ran to his employer's
assistance.

The laborers pressed closer, their brown hands fingering their belts,
their faces dark with passion. Hemmed in on every side by the scowling
aliens, Gregory took a step forward and stood waiting.

Mascola advanced warily with peculiar sideling steps. His face was a
mottled gray save in one place where his chin was flecked with blood.
His left arm was extended guard-wise. His right was crooked loosely to
his side, fingers covered. He crouched low and gathered.

Gregory measured the distance which separated him from the advancing
Italian. Faintly to his ears came the sound of creaking boards behind
him. Perhaps Mascola's men were pressing in from the rear. He dared not
look to see. His eyes were held by Mascola's crooked arm. That was what
he must grab and break.

Mascola's dark eyes, shining with anger, flashed over Gregory's shoulder
to the door beyond. Then they widened with surprise. He stopped
suddenly. His extended arm drooped. For an instant he stood hesitating,
wavering. He took a step backward. His crooked arm unbent, dropped
slowly to his side.

His eyes were held by the open door.

CHAPTER IV

THE WORK OF THEIR FATHERS

"Drop it, Mascola."

The sharp command drew the eyes of the laborers to the door and they
stopped fingering their knives. Shuffling closer together they looked to
their leader for guidance.

Mascola's eyes darted about the floor, coming to rest upon a big vat
only a few feet away. For an instant he hesitated. A faint metallic
click from the doorway caused him to make up his mind. His body
straightened as his hands traveled upward to the level of his shoulders.
The palm of his right hand opened and a thin two-edged blade