by an Orenian, he was lost
anyway. Ruefully, he rebuttoned his shirt.

"I leapt to a bad conclusion."

"That he was an Orenian? He would have been, soon. Besides--you _have_
to leap to conclusions nowadays, to stay alive."

"You don't seem to worry."

"I told you, he was going to kill me."

"Why?"

"Because--" She paused and stared out across the twilight water,
gathering a slow frown. "Because he was crazy."

Morgan's eyes flickered over her trim figure, and he thought--_maybe_.
She had a trace of Seminole blood, he decided--with the quiet
sultriness that it leant to her face.

"I'm heading west," he announced.

"To the cypress?" She cooly inspected his sturdy arms, clipped
features, and the hatchet in his belt-rope. She nodded faintly to
herself. "Want company?"

He shrugged and turned half away. "It's okay with me." He set off down
the road and she followed a few feet to the rear.

"Florida coast's getting to be lousy with them," she called.

"Orenians?"

"Yeah. Whole truckload of them passed through yesterday. On their way
to Miami, I guess. One man said he saw an airplane yesterday."

"They must be reviving the industry up north."

"Yeah. Trucks by the dozen. Say--where've _you_ been hiding?"

"Mangrove island. Been there six months."

"Get lonesome?"

"And tired of sitting still. Small island."

"You should have stayed--but I'm glad you didn't."

He shot her a sharp glance. She failed to look bereaved at the loss of
her mate. But that was not unusual. Most marriages nowadays were
contracted by brute force--and dissolved the same way. She probably
felt that rolling the fat one in the drink gave her a claim on him.

When the last trace of gray fled from the west, they walked westward
along the old highway beyond the limits of the coastal town which was
now nearly deserted. They talked softly as they trudged along, and he
learned that her name was Shera and that she had been a dancer in a
small Miami nightspot, before the Orenians came. She had joined the
fat one a year ago--because he owned a gun, and was therefore good
insurance against wandering Orenians. But when the ammunition was
gone, she tried to leave him, which resulted in the incident by the
waterfront.

Morgan was irked that he had blundered into a family affair, and
troubled that he had relieved the fellow of all worldly cares.
Nevertheless, if the man had been stung, the free world would
say--"job well done." For in a few