ound he probably would
have joined it and suffered the same penalty for failure. If he hadn't
fled, if he hadn't met Seth Winters, if he hadn't taken that last trip
into the desert, if any one of a hundred little things had happened
differently he would not be here. That last trip into the desert--he
remembered it as though it were yesterday....

The yellow flare of a greasewood fire cast flickering spears of light
into the encircling darkness. Above, in the purplish black vault of
the moonless sky the stars shone down with icy splendor. The air was
quiet, the evening breeze had died, and the stillness of the desert
night pressed softly upon the earth. Far away, muted by distance, came
the ululating wail of a coyote.

Seth Winters laid another stick of quick-burning greasewood on the
fire and squinted across the smoke at Matson who was lying on his
back, arms crossed behind his head, eyeing the night sky with the
fascination of a dreamer.

"It's certainly peaceful out here," Matson murmured as he rose to his
feet, stretched, and sat down again looking into the tiny fire.

"'Tain't nothin' unusual, Dan'l. Not out here it ain't. It's been
plumb peaceful on this here desert nigh onto a million years. An'
why's it peaceful? Mainly 'cuz there ain't too many humans messin'
around in it."

"Possibly you're right, Seth."

"Shore I'm right. It jest ain't nacheral fer a bunch of Homo saps to
get together without an argyment startin' somewhere. 'Tain't the
nature of the critter to be peaceable. An' y'know, thet's the part of
this here sweetness an' light between nations that bothers me. Last
time I was in Prescott, I set down an' read six months of
newspapers--an' everything's jest too damn good to be true. Seems like
everybody's gettin' to love everybody else." He shook his head. "The
hull world's as sticky-sweet as molasses candy. It jest ain't
nacheral!"

"The star men are keeping their word. They said that they would bring
us peace. Isn't that what they're doing?"

"Shucks Dan'l--that don't give 'em no call to make the world a blasted
honey-pot with everybody bubblin' over with brotherly love. There
ain't no real excitement left. Even the Commies ain't raisin' hell
like they useta. People are gettin' more like a bunch of damn woolies
every day."

"I'll admit that Mankind had herd instincts," Matson replied lazily,
"but I've never thought of them as particularly sheeplike. More like a
wolf pack, I'd say."

"Wal