.

He grinned at himself, then something needled at his mind, until he
swung back. The man who had just passed was carrying a lunch basket, and
was wearing the coveralls of one of the crop-prospector crews; but the
expression on his face had been wrong.

Red hair, too heavily built, a lighter section where a mustache had been
shaved and the skin not quite perfectly powdered.... Gordon moved
forward quickly, until he could make out the thin scar showing through
the make-up over the man's eyes. He'd been right--this was O'Neill, head
of the Stonewall gang.

Gordon hit the signal switch, and the Marspeaker let out a shrill
whistle. O'Neill had turned to run, and then seemed to think better of
it. His hand darted down to his belt, just as Gordon reached him.

The heavy locust stick met the man's wrist before the weapon was half
drawn--another gun! Guns suddenly seemed to be flourishing everywhere.
The gun dropped from O'Neill's hand as the wrist snapped, and the
Stonewall chief let out a high-pitched cry of pain. Then another cop
came around a corner at a run.

"You can't do it to me! I'm reformed; I'm going straight! You damned
cops can't...." O'Neill was blubbering. The small crowd that was
collecting was all to the good, Gordon knew, and he let O'Neill go on.
Nothing could help break up the gangs more than having a leader break
down in public.

The other cop had yanked out O'Neill's wallet, and now tossed it to
Gordon. One look was enough--the work papers had the telltale
over-thickening of the signature that had showed up on other papers,
obviously forgeries. The cops had been passing them on the hope of
finding one of the leaders.

Some turned away as Gordon and the other cop went to work, but most of
them weren't squeamish. When it was over, the two picked up their
whimpering captive. Gordon pocketed the revolver with his free hand.
"Walk, O'Neill!" he ordered. "Your legs are still whole. Use them!"

The man staggered between them, whimpering at each step. If any members
of the gang were around, they made no attempt to rescue him.

Jenkins, the other cop, had been holding the wallet. Now he held it out
toward Gordon. "The gee was heeled, Corporal. Must of been making a big
contact in something. Fifty-fifty?"

"Turn it in to Murdoch," Gordon said, and then cursed himself. There
must have been over two thousand credits in the wallet.

* * * * *

The captain's face had been b