all
inquiries about me with the statement, literally true, that I was too
immersed in work of clearing up matters left unfinished after the death
of the former Ambassador for any social activities. Then I called the
Hickock ranch in the west end of Sam Houston Continent, mentioning an
invitation the Colonel and his daughter had extended me, and told them I
would be out to see them before noon that same day. With Hoddy Ringo
driving the car, I arrived about 1000, and was welcomed by Gail and her
father, who had flown out the evening before, after the barbecue.

Hoddy, accompanied by a Ranger and one of Hickock's ranch hands, all
three disguised in shabby and grease-stained cast-offs borrowed at the
ranch, and driving a dilapidated aircar from the ranch junkyard, were
sent to visit the slum village of Bonneyville. They spent all day there,
posing as a trio of range tramps out of favor with the law.

I spent the day with Gail, flying over the range, visiting Hickock's
herd camps and slaughtering crews. It was a pleasant day and I managed
to make it constructive as well.

Because of their huge size--they ran to a live weight of around fifteen
tons--and their uncertain disposition, supercows are not really
domesticated. Each rancher owned the herds on his own land, chiefly by
virtue of constant watchfulness over them. There were always a couple of
helicopters hovering over each herd, with fast fighter planes waiting on
call to come in and drop fire-bombs or stun-bombs in front of them if
they showed a disposition to wander too far. Naturally, things of this
size could not be shipped live to the market; they were butchered on the
range, and the meat hauled out in big 'copter-trucks.

Slaughtering was dangerous and exciting work. It was done with medium
tanks mounting fifty-mm guns, usually working at the rear of the herd,
although a supercow herd could change directions almost in a second and
the killing-tanks would then find themselves in front of a stampede. I
saw several such incidents. Once Gail and I had to dive in with our car
and help turn such a stampede.

We got back to the ranch house shortly before dinner. Gail went at once
to change clothes; Colonel Hickock and I sat down together for a drink
in his library, a beautiful room. I especially admired the walls,
panelled in plastic-hardened supercow-leather.

"What do you think of our planet now, Mr. Silk?" Colonel Hickock asked.

"Well, Colonel, your final mess