He tripped over something, stepped down on something else that rolled, and stumbled almost into one of the buildings. Careful, he warned himself, suppressing a chuckle. Why, it was almost like getting a load on! But without any of the disadvantages, because he certainly wasn't slowed down or incapacitated in the least; he could feel it. Somebody yelled at him. Artie Chesbro paused thoughtfully to listen--what had the man said?--and became conscious of the deeper, louder thudding of his heart. Possibly that fourth tablet had been one too many, he admitted; better get this over with and rest for a while. A touch concerned--after all, he didn't want to be too exhausted for the big day tomorrow--he stepped forward to see what the man wanted. He ran right into something he hadn't seen. It shoved him back on the ground, brutally strong, remorselessly hard. Damn it, he thought, gasping--It didn't hurt, though, not for a moment. And then it did hurt, very much. And then neither it nor anything else ever hurt again.... The private was sobbing: "I _did_ aim for the knees, Lieutenant! He wouldn't stop! I _told_ him! I thought he was a looter, like you said, and I _did_ aim for the knees...." The company commander leaned in front of the lights of the weapons carrier and crooked a finger at the lieutenant. He was holding the private's M-17, pointing to the sights. The leaf was set for a hundred yards; the shot had been not more than twenty-five. A bullet leaving a rifle goes up before it goes down; the line of sight is straight, the line of trajectory curves in a parabola; an aim that would be dead-on at a hundred yards will strike high at twenty-five. Not very high. About as high as the difference between a man's knees and the middle of his chest. The company commander looked significantly at the lieutenant, and snapped the sighting leaf closed. "You did your duty," he told the private. "All right. Let's clean up here," he told the others gathered round. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN "The skunk's never coming back," Dick McCue said bitterly. His face was hurting again. He wanted to lie down again in his comfortable room at Goudeket's Green Acres, horror and fatigue far behind. Mrs. Goudeket didn't even hear. She had taken her place on the one good chair, near the door, and she was waiting for the moment when Artie Chesbro, the thief of cars, should walk back inside. That, thought Mickey Groff, would be a moment to watch. Chesbro had been asking for it for a long time. It would be a pleasure to see the old lady taking him apart. He thought wrong. The old lady sighed and said, "How long now? A day and a half I been away from Goudeket's Green Acres, and all the time I been worried sick. You know something? Now I'm not worried." Mickey Groff said, "That's right, Mrs. Goudeket. There's nothing to worry about. Everything's all right there, you'll see."