se of
security.

He found a couple of rocks and a bottle and let them fly, then bent for
more.

Something landed on his back, and fingernails were gouging into his
face, searching for his eyes!

Instinct carried him forward, jerking down sharply and twisting. The
figure on his back sailed over his head, to land with a harsh thump on
the ground. Brassy yellow hair spilled over a girl's face, and her
breath slammed out of her throat as she hit. But the fall hadn't been
enough to do serious damage.

Bruce Gordon jumped forward, bringing his foot up in a savage swing, but
she'd rolled, and the blow only glanced against her ribs. She jerked her
hand down for a knife, and came to her knees, her lips drawn back
against her teeth. "Get him!" she yelled. Then he recognized her--Sheila
Corey.

The two thugs had held back, but now they began edging in. Gordon
slipped back behind another truck, listening for the sound of their
feet. He'd half-expected another encounter with the Mother's
granddaughter.

They tried to outmaneuver him; he stepped back to his former spot,
catching his breath and digging frantically for his knife. It came out,
just as they realized he'd tricked them.

Sheila was still on her knees, fumbling with something, and apparently
paying no attention to him. But now she jerked to her feet, her hand
going back and forward.

It was a six-inch section of pipe, with a thin wisp of smoke, and the
throw was toward Gordon's feet. The hoodlums yelled, and ducked, while
Sheila broke into a run away from him. The little homemade bomb landed,
bounced, and lay still, with its fuse almost burned down.

Gordon's heart froze in his throat, but he was already in action. He
spat savagely into his hand, and jumped for the bomb. If the fuse was
powder-soaked, he had no chance. He brought his palm down against it,
and heard a faint hissing. Then he held his breath, waiting.

No explosion came. It had been a crude job, with only a wick for a fuse.

Sheila Corey had stopped at a safe distance; now she grabbed at her
helpers, and swung them with her. The three came back, Sheila in the
lead with her knife flashing.

Gordon side-stepped her rush, and met the other two head-on, his knife
swinging back. His foot hit some of the rubble on the ground at the last
second, and he skidded. The leading mobster saw the chance and jumped
for him. Gordon bent his head sharply, and dropped, falling onto his
shoulders and somersaultin