-five years."

"It could have only been about three days."

"Then how come I'm so old?"

"We don't know that, Manuel, we sure don't know that. How big were these
people?"

"Who knows? A finger long, maybe two?"

"And what is their town?"

"It is an old prairie-dog town that they fixed up. You have to dig down
with a spade to get to the streets."

"Maybe they were really all prairie dogs, Manuel. Maybe the heat got you
and you only dreamed that they were little people."

"Prairie dogs can't write as good as on that list. Prairie dogs can't
write hardly at all."

"That's true. The list is hard to explain. And such odd names on it
too."

"Where is Mula? I don't see Mula since I came back."

"Mula just lay down and died, Manuel."

"Gave me the slip. Why didn't I think of that? Well, I'll do it too. I'm
too worn out for anything else."

"Before you do, Manuel, just a couple of last questions."

"Make them real fast then. I'm on my way."

"Did you know these little people were there before?"

"Oh, sure. There a long time."

"Did anybody else ever see them?"

"Oh, sure. Everybody in the Santa Magdalena see them. Eight, nine people
see them."

"And Manuel, how do we get to the place? Can you show us on a map?"

Manuel made a grimace, and died quietly as Mula had done. He didn't
understand those maps at all, and took the easy way out.

They buried him, not knowing for sure whether he was Manuel come back,
or what he was.

There wasn't much of him to bury.

It was the same night, very late and after he had been asleep, that
Marshal was awakened by the ring of an authoritative voice. He was being
harangued by a four-inch tall man on his bedside table, a man of
dominating presence and acid voice.

"Come out of that cot, you clown! Give me your name and station!"

"I'm Marshal, and I suspect that you are a late pig sandwich, or caused
by one. I shouldn't eat so late."

"Say 'sir' when you reply to me. I am no pig sandwich and I do not
commonly call on fools. Get on your feet, you clod."

And wonderingly Marshal did.

"I want the list that was stolen. Don't gape! Get it!"

"What list?"

"Don't stall, don't stutter. Get me our tax list that was stolen. It
isn't words that I want from you."

"Listen, you cicada, I'll take you and--"

"You will not. You will notice that you are paralyzed from the neck
down. I suspect that you were always so from there up. Where is the
list?"

"S-sent it to