w I'll go back to good old
2084. Johnnie, Johnnie, wake up! You're here!_

_God!_

CHAPTER XIII

The Mink he takes his pick and gun,
He ranges through the towns;
His force is miners, trappers, thieves--
And a girl in gentry-gown.

The rebels ride on stolen nags,
They travel on shanks' mare;
The gore's awash, the heads they roll,
All in the torches' glare.

--Ruck's Ballad of the Mink

Revel the Mink and his eight troops crouched in the dark entrance of the
mine. The night was black, clouds had obscured the moon, and only the
occasional pinpoints of globes drifting between the buttons above them
broke the gloom.

"What are they doing?" hissed Nirea. "Why haven't we been attacked long
since?"

"The globes move in a mysterious way their wonders to perform," muttered
John Klapham. "I'll wager there's something like that in the Globate
Credo."

"Almost those words." Revel glanced at him respectfully. This man of the
Ancient Kingdom had great mental powers.

"Sure. Every time somebody has the upper hand over somebody else,
there's got to be an aura of mystery; and any half-brained action is put
down to 'mysterious ways.'" He spat. "They're so damn confused, son,
that they're probably holding forty conferences up there, because they
don't dare wipe out this valley--coal keeps the gentry warm and happy
for 'em--and they want to inspect the cave down below. So they're tryin'
to think of the best way to squelch you without losing too many priests
and zanphs and gentry."

"True, they mustn't lose too many servants, or their prestige is hurt,"
said Lady Nirea. Now that she'd found her Revel, she had discarded the
rucker's clothing and was dressed in a thigh-hugging sapphire gown. Even
in the dark she was beautiful, he thought.

The Mink stood. Up and down the valley glowed the lights of god-guards
at the mines, double and treble now, since with the Mink loose not even
a god was safe alone. Plenty of zanphs there too, he thought. Yet he had
a few gentryman's guns, and his old pick slung at his back. Zanphs,
gods, gentry, priests? Let them beware!

His thinking was done; he would retire his brains--despite the clever
John, Revel knew he had more than one brain--and let his brawn take
over. Only the brawn of the Mink could win through the next hours.
Half-consciously he tensed his whole frame, curled his fingers and toes,
thrust out his great chest. The skin on a