eely's ear and splashed garden soil that turned
incandescent, instantly.

John Endlich might have died in that moment, cut down from behind. That
he wasn't probably meant that, from the position of complete underdog
among the spectators, his popularity had risen some.

"Neely," he said with a grin, "how can you start beatin', when you ain't
done eatin'? Neely--here I am, trying to be friendly and hospitable, and
you aren't co-operating. A whole bushel of juicy tomatoes--symbols of
civilization way the hell out here in the asteroids--and you haven't
even made a dent in 'em yet! What's the matter, Neely? Lose your
appetite? Here! Eat!..."

Endlich's tone was falsely persuasive. For there was a steely note of
command in it. And the blaster in Endlich's hand was pointed straight at
Neely's chest.

Neely's eyes began to look frightened and sullen. He shifted
uncomfortably, and the bushel basket creaked under his weight. "You're
yella as any damn pun'kin!" he said loudly. "You don't fight fair!...
Guys--what's the matter with you? Get this nut with the blaster offa
me!..."

"Hmm--yella," Endlich seemed to muse. "Maybe not as yella as you were
once--coming around here at night with a whole gang, not so long ago--"

"Call _me_ yella?" Nelly hollered. "Why, you lousy damn yokel, if you
didn't have that blaster--"

Endlich said grimly, "But I got it, friend!" He sent a stream of energy
from the blaster right past Neely's head, so close that a shock of the
other's hair smoked and curled into black wisps. "And watch your
language--my wife and kids can hear you--"

Neely's thick shoulders hunched. He ducked nervously, rubbing his
head--and for the first time there was a hint of genuine alarm in his
voice. "All right," he growled, "all right! Take it easy--"

Something deep within John Endlich relaxed--a cold tight knot seemed to
unwind--for, at that moment, he knew that Neely was beginning to lose.
The big man's evident discomfort and fear were the marks of weakness--to
his followers at least; and with them, he could never be a leader,
again. Moreover, he had allowed himself to be maneuvered into the
position of being the butt of a practical joke, that, by his own code,
must be followed up, to its nasty, if interesting, outcome. The
spectators began to resemble Romans at the circus, with Neely the
victim. And the victim's downfall was tragically swift.

"Come on, Neely! You heard what Pun'kins said," somebody yelled.
"J