Part 6 (1/2)

Conger returned to the crystal globe. He pushed through the door and stepped inside. He took the Slem-gun from the shelf and screwed the bolt into place. It was ready to go, ready to fire. For a moment he considered. Should he have it with him?

No. It might be hours before the Founder came, and suppose someone approached him in the meantime? When he saw the Founder coming toward the field, then he could go and get the gun.

Conger looked toward the shelf. There was the neat plastic package. He took it down and unwrapped it.

He held the skull in his hands, turning it over. In spite of himself, a cold feeling rushed through him. This was the man's skull, the skull of the Founder, who was still alive, who would come here, this day, who would stand on the field not fifty yards away.

What if _he_ could see this, his own skull, yellow and eroded? Two centuries old. Would he still speak? Would he speak, if he could see it, the grinning, aged skull? What would there be for him to say, to tell the people? What message could he bring?

What action would not be futile, when a man could look upon his own aged, yellowed skull? Better they should enjoy their temporary lives, while they still had them to enjoy.

A man who could hold his own skull in his hands would believe in few causes, few movements. Rather, he would preach the opposite--

A sound. Conger dropped the skull back on the shelf and took up the gun.

Outside something was moving. He went quickly to the door, his heart beating. Was it _he_? Was it the Founder, wandering by himself in the cold, looking for a place to speak? Was he meditating over his words, choosing his sentences?

What if he could see what Conger had held!

He pushed the door open, the gun raised.

Lora!

He stared at her. She was dressed in a wool jacket and boots, her hands in her pockets. A cloud of steam came from her mouth and nostrils. Her breast was rising and falling.

Silently, they looked at each other. At last Conger lowered the gun.

”What is it?” he said. ”What are you doing here?”

She pointed. She did not seem able to speak. He frowned; what was wrong with her?

”What is it?” he said. ”What do you want?” He looked in the direction she had pointed. ”I don't see anything.”

”They're coming.”

”They? Who? Who are coming?”

”They are. The police. During the night the Sheriff had the state police send cars. All around, everywhere. Blocking the roads. There's about sixty of them coming. Some from town, some around behind.” She stopped, gasping. ”They said--they said--”

”What?”

”They said you were some kind of a Communist. They said--”

Conger went into the cage. He put the gun down on the shelf and came back out. He leaped down and went to the girl.

”Thanks. You came here to tell me? You don't believe it?”

”I don't know.”

”Did you come alone?”