aled cans, great torn
bundles and what not, went skittering far across the plain in every
direction, or were hurled high toward the stars, to begin falling at
last with the laziness of a descending feather.

* * * * *

Neely and his companions hadn't attempted to move out of the way of the
explosion. They only rolled with its force, protected by their space
suits. Endlich rolled, too, helplessly, clutching his pistol and rifle:
still, by some superhuman effort, he managed to regain his feet before
the far more practiced Neely, who was hampered, no doubt, by a few too
many drinks, had even stopped rolling. But when Neely got up, he had
drawn his blaster, a useful tool of his trade, but a hellish weapon,
too, at short range.

Still, Endlich retained the drop on him.

Alf Neely chuckled. "Fourth of July! Hallowe'en, Dutch," he said
sweetly. "What's the matter? Don't you think it's fun? Honest to
gosh--you just ain't neighborly!"

Then he switched his tone. It became a soft snarl that didn't alter his
insolent and confident smirk--and a challenge. He laughed derisively,
almost softly. "I dare you to try to shoot straight, pal," he said.
"Even you got more sense than that."

And John Endlich was spang against his terrible, blank wall again. Seven
to one. Suppose he got three. There'd be four left--and more in the
camp. But the four would survive him. Space crazy lugs. Anyway half
drunk. Ready to hoot at the stars, even, if they found no better
diversion. Ready to push even any of their own bunch around who seemed
weaker than they. For spite, maybe. Or just for the lid-blowing hell of
it--as a reaction against the awful confinement of being out here.

"I was gonna smear you all over the place, Greenhorn," Neely rumbled.
"But maybe this way is more fun, hunh? Maybe we'll be back tonight. But
don't wait up for us. Our best regards to your sweet--family."

John Endlich's blazing and just rage was strangled by that same crawling
dread as before, as he saw them arc upward and away, propelled by the
miniature drive-jets attached to the belts of their space-suits. Their
return to camp, hundreds of miles distant, could be accomplished in a
couple of minutes.

Rose and the kids were crouched in the deflated tent. But returning
there, John Endlich hardly saw them. He hardly heard their frightened
questions.

To the trouble with Neely, he could see no end--just one destructive
visitation follo