long real nice, the three of us." He paused,
considering.

"Oh, maybe you don't like the idea at first," he added. "But we got all
kinds ways to persuade people.

"Got a fella, name's Masterson, down there right now. Danny tries, but
he can't do nothing with him. But he'll come around. You give us a few
more days--a week, maybe, he's going to be a real reasonable fella." He
pulled the flier door open.

"We're getting this country organized, see? One of these days, some
fella's been smart and got in at the right time, he's going to be quite
a guy. Have just about anything he wants, see?" He reached into the
flier and snapped switches. A muted humming sounded through the
courtyard.

"Tell you, though, Kid. Maybe old Jake's not real trusting like he
oughta be. Not just yet a while. Suppose you just turn your back to me
for a minute, eh?"

Don turned slowly, straining his ears.

He could hear the faint sibilance of Gorham's clothing as the man
approached. Then the sound stopped. There was a slight grating noise.

Obviously, then, the man was lifting an arm and shifting his weight.

Don dropped suddenly to the ground, whirling as he went down. He seized
Gorham's legs, lifted, then dashed the man's body to the ground.
Swiftly following up, he seized the gun hand and twisted violently.

Jolted by the sudden fall, Gorham was quiet for a fraction of a second.
Then he burst into explosive action, trying to tear himself free from
Don's restraining grip. He twisted and tried to kick himself free, then
groaned as the twisting pressure ripped at elbow and shoulder tendons.
The khroal rattled on the stones.

Abruptly, Don jerked the tortured arm around and pinned it beneath a
leg. He placed a hand on Gorham's throat and reached for the other arm.

"Aw," whispered Gorham agonizedly, "aw, take it easy, will you? I got
the idea all right. So let me up, we do things your way, huh?" He
looked anxiously at the face which stared down a few inches from his
own.

Don saw the pleading expression on the man's face. For a heartbeat, he
started to relax the pressure on the throat.

Then he remembered another pleading pair of eyes that had looked at
him. The gersal, he remembered, had been just as helpless under his
stick as this man was now under his hands. But given the slightest
chance, it would have had its teeth in his leg. And the poison would
have poured into his veins. He looked again at Gorham.

His hand tightened and dro