t against Wade?"

"I'll try to tell you what I know of Harror while we're on our way to
make that next mono-train," O'Toole said. He took another quick glance
at his watch. "She pulls out in half an hour, so keep away from lights
and let's get to the station before we miss her."

* * * * *

They went out of the fenced space-field, bending double against the
storm. For several minutes O'Toole led Jeff Blake through deserted
streets. Reaching the lighted dome that was the Hope Mono-Terminal, he
explained.

"Grudge Harror," he said, "is the leader of a gang of cut-throats who
have been holding up and wrecking trains from here to the border. He's
got Walter Ferrell on the verge of bankruptcy. If something doesn't
happen soon to stop him, the Hope to Horn[A] line will fold up like a
busted space-kite."

"And Wade?" Blake questioned. "Where does he fit in the picture?"

"Ferrell depended on Wade to track Harror down and tear his gang apart.
You mentioned that Wade liked to raise flowers. Well! Thus far, he's
still at it. So for six months Harror has torn the business apart, train
by train."

Blake looked through the great entrance into the warmly lighted
Mono-Terminal. It was nearly deserted.

"It's a rotten shame that a cheap bunch of punks have spoiled a business
as fine as Walter Ferrell's mono line," he said slowly. "It looks as
though he has picked the wrong man for the job of getting Grudge Harror.
Maybe we can do something about it."

Holly O'Toole whacked him heartily across the back.

"I knew you'd say that, Jeff." Something of the old fight was coming
back into the Irishman's eyes. "I'll admit I'm stumped, but maybe with
your help...."

* * * * *

The mammoth dome of Hope's mono terminal was glowing warmly under a
rainbow of fluorescent light, when Blake and O'Toole entered the
rotunda. Crowds jostled toward the open gates that led to the V-Gaps
that held the single-tracked mono train upright when they were at the
station docks.

They followed down the long ramp to the dock and waited. A mono train
scraped slowly around the V-Gap and stopped. On its blunt, plastic nose
a single numeral was printed--6. The train was decorated in a sleek
contrast of silver and brown. Inside, porters rushed about making the
train ready for its return trip south.

Once on board, Blake stretched out and relaxed into deep air cushions.

"It's a good feeling