s skull, but the prints on the sand
were big.

How many men in the camp wore size-twelve shoes? That was the sixty-four
dollar question, and it hung in the shimmering air between Harry and
myself like an unspoken challenge. We could almost see the curve of the
big question mark suspended in the dazzle.

I thought awhile, looking at Harry. Then I took a long, deep breath and
said, "We'd better talk it over with Bill Seaton first. If it gets
around too fast those footprints will be trampled flat. And if tempers
start rising anything could happen."

Harry nodded. Bill was the kind of guy you could depend on in an
emergency. Cool, poised, efficient, with an air of authority that
commanded respect. He could be pigheaded at times, but his sense of
justice was as keen as a whip.

Harry and I walked very quietly across a stretch of tumbled sand and
halted at the door to Bill's shack. Bill was a bachelor and we knew
there'd be no woman inside to put her foot down and tell him he'd be a
fool to act as a lawman. Or would there be? We had to chance it.

Law-enforcement is a thankless job whether on Earth or on Mars. That's
why it attracts the worst--and the best. If you're a power-drunk sadist
you'll take the job just for the pleasure it gives you. But if you're
really interested in keeping violence within bounds so that fairly
decent lads get a fighting chance to build for the future, you'll take
the job with no thought of reward beyond the simple satisfaction of
lending a helping hand.

Bill Seaton was such a man, even if he did enjoy the limelight and liked
to be in a position of command.

"Come on, Harry," I said. "We may as well wake him up and get it over
with."

We went into the shack. Bill was sleeping on the floor with his long
legs drawn up. His mouth was open and he was snoring lustily. I couldn't
help thinking how much he looked like an overgrown grasshopper. But that
was just a first impression springing from overwrought nerves.

I bent down and shook Bill awake. I grabbed his arm and shook him until
his jaw snapped shut and he shot up straight, suddenly galvanized.
Instantly the grotesque aspect fell from him. Dignity came upon him and
enveloped him like a cloak.

"Ned, you say? The poor little cuss! So help me--if I get my hands on
the rat who did it I'll roast him over a slow fire!"

He got up, staggered to an equipment locker, and took out a sun helmet
and a pair of shorts. He dressed quickly, swearin