that her eyes were dry; she was long past tears. Gently I unclasped her
clenched fingers and put her back in the chair. She sat like a doll, her
hands falling to her sides with a thin clash of chains. When I picked
them up and laid them in her lap she let them lie there motionless. I
stood over her and demanded, "Who's Rindy?" She didn't move.

"My daughter, Race. Our little girl."

Magnusson broke in, his voice harsh. "Well, Cargill, should I have let
you leave?"

"Don't be a damn fool!"

"I was afraid you'd tell the poor kid she had to live with her own
mistakes," growled Magnusson. "You're capable of it."

For the first time Juli showed a sign of animation. "I was afraid to
come to you, Mack. You never wanted me to marry Rakhal, either."

"Water under the bridge," Magnusson grunted. "And I've got lads of my
own, Miss Cargill--Mrs.--" he stopped in distress, vaguely remembering
that in the Dry-towns an improper form of address can be a deadly
insult.

But she guessed his predicament.

"You used to call me Juli, Mack. It will do now."

"You've changed," he said quietly. "Juli, then. Tell Race what you told
me. All of it."

She turned to me. "I shouldn't have come for myself--"

I knew that. Juli was proud, and she had always had the courage to live
with her own mistakes. When I first saw her, I knew this wouldn't be
anything so simple as the complaint of an abused wife or even an
abandoned or deserted mother. I took a chair, watching her and
listening.

She began. "You made a mistake when you turned Rakhal out of the
Service, Mack. In his way he was the most loyal man you had on Wolf."

Magnusson had evidently not expected her to take this tack. He scowled
and looked disconcerted, shifting uneasily in his big chair, but when
Juli did not continue, obviously awaiting his answer, he said, "Juli, he
left me no choice. I never knew how his mind worked. That final deal he
engineered--have you any idea how much that cost the Service? And have
you taken a good look at your brother's face, Juli girl?"

Juli raised her eyes slowly, and I saw her flinch. I knew how she felt.
For three years I had kept my mirror covered, growing an untidy
straggle of beard because it hid the scars and saved me the ordeal of
facing myself to shave.

Juli whispered, "Rakhal's is just as bad. Worse."

"That's some satisfaction," I said, and Mack stared at us, baffled.
"Even now I don't know what it was all about."

"And you n