aint. Agitated air thundered as the butterflier lifted
straight up two hundred feet and glided away in the direction of
Surgoinsville Dam.

Teddy and Will stood by with pitchforks unrelaxed. Will spat a globule
of tobacco juice. "The thangs these here psychologists git made law!" he
sneered. "You want me to make out a Thrill Damage Claim?"

"No, Will," Stonecypher said, "just deduct it from taxes."

Teddy looked at the revolver and said, "Ever'body oughta take guns to
them crazy youngin's. Reckon you'll git into trouble?"

"No. It's an empty antique. That's legal. You guys did all right. Let
the calves back in, huh?"

The tenants left by the gate, and, with a minimum of driving, urged the
calves into the pasture. Stonecypher watched the men pass through the
grove. Although the tenants undoubtedly recognized the peculiarities of
the calves, they never mentioned them. Since the late 1700's, through
Revolution, Civil War, automobile, the Department of Internal Revenue,
the multiple bureaus that had controlled the Lakes, the Moon rocket, and
the expedition to Pluto, these people had remained suspiciously
interested in strangers, suspicious of indoor plumbing, doubtful of the
Government, quick-tempered, and as immovable as Chimney Top. They had
exchanged little except log and frame houses for concrete. The tenants,
not really tenants, had been squatting on Bays Mountain when Cary
McPheeter bought the farm; and there they stayed.

Stonecypher vaulted the fence. Catriona, with hands firmly planted on
hips, stood in the dry pond. Stonecypher said, "If I just knew what
these thrill parties think they're up to, it might help."

Catriona shook her head of red-yellow hair. "Nevah mind them. Ah told
you to practice shootin', but the minute ah turn mah back, you run off
and staht teachin' those calves! You've got to practice, Stony! You've
nevah done any shootin', and L. Dan's killed ten people. Ah--"

"Watch the tears, or you'll have red and green eyes," Stonecypher said.
Clumsily, he ejected the shells and reloaded the revolver. He occupied
two seconds in drawing and firing. The bullet struck dirt a yard to the
left of the target.

SONATA

A short vicious thunderstorm lashed Bays Mountain on the afternoon of
July 3. As the storm passed, a blood-red butterflier, with a pusher
propeller in the tail and a plastic bull head on the nose, descended in
the young Sudan grass. Stonecypher dropped the saw--he had been clea