ntly, he gathered himself. He'd clip the guy from behind, then
Gerry and Walt could come in from the other side and pin him down.

"Hope the jerk's got plenty of that stuff," he muttered.

The stroller came closer. Maurie appraised him as he walked. Oh, boy,
another little, old guy. Clothes looked pretty good, too. Nice stack of
cloth. Should be quite a rack of the purple in them.

Now the man was almost close enough. Maurie's eyes followed him as he
approached, then passed. He launched himself in a crouching dash.

As he left the shelter of the bush, something bumped against his neck.
He found himself whirling to the ground. Dimly, he saw his intended
victim whirl around. He attempted to dodge the foot as it came down on
his face, but it was like moving in a dream. Somehow, he was too slow.

For just an instant, he felt crushing pain, then the world dissolved
into bright specks in a spreading blackness. One by one, the points of
light winked out. And then, there was nothing.

As their intended victim whirled to crush Maurie, Gerry Kelton poked at
his brother.

"Come on," he urged. "He can't take two of us. Let's go."

The two dashed out of their cover, then found themselves prostrate at
the edge of the path.

Walt Kelton was flipped over and held in a vicelike grip, his head
grinding into the path. Close by, he could see his brother. Two men
held him down. As he watched, they seized Gerry's hands, twisting them
so that his head flopped face up.

A third man leaned over, a long knife in his hand. Unbelievingly, Walt
watched as the man thrust the knife into Gerry's throat. The boy's feet
kicked convulsively a couple of times, then dropped. The toes sank, to
point outward.

With calm precision, the killer turned his knife and forced it across
the throat with the heel of his hand. Dark fluid welled out on the
path, making a pool which flowed toward Walt.

Casually, the man pulled the slack of Gerry's shirt toward him and
wiped the blade till it was gleaming again. Then he looked toward Walt.
He got to his feet.

For an instant, the boy lay limp, paralyzed with terror. Then, he
kicked and struggled madly. Unbelievingly, he felt the hands which
restrained him loosen and he kicked and squirmed until he was free to
scramble away.

He skittered on all fours till he reached the middle of the path.

Then he struggled to his feet.

And ran.

* * * * *

Don Michaels fli