even
though Gorton started the fight for no reason."

Just then the fallen guard groaned and began to regain his senses. The
men helped him to his feet. He blinked for some moments, as though
trying to figure out what had happened to him, then remembrance came.

"Why, that little squirt, hittin' me wit' a chair!" he yelled, and
straggled to get at Hanlon again, nor did the men have an easy time
holding him back.

Philander planted himself squarely in front of the angry man. "Shut up!"
he blazed, and the tone of command halted the big fellow; he stared
stupidly at his boss, as though disbelieving his ears. "You keep your
hands off Hanlon!" the super emphasized his words by tapping Gorton not
gently on the chest. "I hear of any more of this, and it's the jug 'til
the next ship comes, then back to Sime."

He whirled to face the table. "That goes for all the rest of you rats,
too! If Hanlon does his job better'n you, it's 'cause he's a better man.
Try to match him--don't go gunning for him!"

"He your pet, Pete?" one asked mockingly.

"No, he's not my pet, Pete," the super's voice mimicked the tone,
although his face went red at the accusation. "I just don't want this
camp messed up with any feuds. That'd cut down production, and the Big
Boy wants this ore out fast. If Hanlon can work his crew faster'n
harder'n the rest of you, you'd a blasted sight better find out how he
does it, not try to cut down his take. How'd you like to go back to Sime
and try explaining to His Highness why you're not getting out as much
stuff as's been proved possible?"

That stopped them cold. Hanlon, watching their faces and reading their
minds, saw them shiver at thought of having to face that feared
individual--whoever he was. They were more scared of him than of the
Devil--that was evident.

The men resumed their eating without another word--that threat had cowed
them as no amount of physical chastisement or other punishment could
possibly have done. Philander set about sewing up and binding Gorton's
head-wound and his cut and bleeding face.

Hanlon resumed his own seat after washing up and treating his own
bruises with the cook's help. As he ate he sought mind after mind in the
vain endeavor to discover any possible scrap of information about this
enigmatic, unknown Highness.

But he drew blank after blank, as far as definite data was
concerned--just as he had always done. The surface thoughts of each man
there showed plainly the