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final crust on the other side of the earth. He walked a few steps toward the three men, and then stopped and stood before them like an upright rail- road rail. Not a person leaned or used, and his black beard was as curled wire. And it made Prank- ster wonder why the electric feeling from him made not his hair stand on end. "Where is Shotgun?" Asking the question Blackman's voice bolted the door on all the fancyful possibil- ities. He had addressed the Driver, but out of turn Daven- port answered the question. "Gone back to the top of the hill." Blackman's neck turned his face slowly toward Daven- port, and for some reason his lips smiled. His eyes though, remained like barren bits of hillside coal coated by the ice of a cold climate. To trace after forgetting to trace was obvious. He shrugged his shoulders. The next question was foolish. Turning on his toes, his feet plowing into spots of moss and dust, he seemed to move in the motion of a tight spin as he walked through the circle of people and away from the passing of needles and pipes. Prankster shook for a moment with the abrupt anger of this man of such a black nature walking as he was now past the trees onto the first hills, loping as