of the country 'thout a pack mule. Still
places y'can't, but the boss had t' have a road built up to the ranch
so's he could bring in all that heavy equipment. Reckon one of these
days the Mogollons 'll be so civilized and full a people that a fella
might as well live in New York."

Elshawe, who hadn't seen another human being for fifteen minutes, felt
that the predicted overcrowding was still some time off.

"'Course," the driver went on, "I reckon folks have t' live some place,
but I never could see why human bein's are so all-fired determined to
bunch theirselves up so thick together that they can't hardly move--like
a bunch of sheep in a snowstorm. It don't make sense to me. Does it to
you, Mr. Skinner?"

That last was addressed to the other passenger, an elderly man who was
sitting in the seat behind Elshawe.

"I guess it's pretty much a matter of taste, Bill," Mr. Skinner said in
a soft voice.

"I reckon," Bill said, in a tone that implied that anyone whose tastes
were so bad that he wanted to live in the city was an object of pity who
probably needed psychiatric treatment. He was silent for a moment, in
obvious commiseration with his less fortunate fellows.

Elshawe took the opportunity to try to get a word in. The chunky
Westerner had picked him up at the airport, along with Mr. Samuel
Skinner, who had come in on the same plane with Elshawe, and, after
introducing himself as Bill Rodriguez, he had kept up a steady stream of
chatter ever since. Elshawe didn't feel he should take a chance on
passing up the sudden silence.

"By the way; has Mr. Porter applied to the Government for permission to
test his ... uh ... his ship, yet?"

Bill Rodriguez didn't take his eyes off the winding road. "Well, now, I
don't rightly know, Mr. Elshawe. Y'see, I just work on the ranch up
there. I don't have a doggone thing to do with the lab'r'tory at
all--'cept to keep the fence in good shape so's the stock don't get into
the lab'r'tory area. If Mr. Porter wants me to know somethin', he tells
me, an' if he don't, why, I don't reckon it's any a my business."

"I see," said Elshawe. _And that shuts_ me _up_, he thought to himself.
He took out his pipe and began to fill it in silence.

"How's everything out in Los Angeles, Mr. Skinner?" Rodriguez asked the
passenger in back. "Haven't seen you in quite a spell."

Elshawe listened to the conversation between the two with half an ear
and smoked his pipe wordlessly.

He had