He had to get information. He didn't know how he was going to handle this, where to begin, what he was going to do--but he knew he would have to eradicate this cancer spot from Ohio for the sake of re-awakening America, and he knew he would succeed. He started down a large thoroughfare that looked as if it might once have been the main shopping center of Northburg. No cars moved down it now--not with gasoline rationed out for top-level priority only--and there was the occasional clippety-clop of a pony-cart drawing produce to market somewhere on the other side of town. * * * * * After about fifty feet, he came to a bar, and smiled. Bars were the best places to get information. He went in. "Morning, Corporal," the barkeep said as he entered. It was small, cozy, with some tables in the back and a well-polished bar along the wall. "What'll you have?" "Beer," Riddell said. He accepted the drink and looked around the bar. There was a little group of men in uniforms sitting at one of the far tables, and quickly he turned his back so they would not see him. To his left, a couple of middle-aged farmers nursed their drinks and seemed to be glaring bitterly at him. He studied them. _They don't like the soldiers_, he thought. It was indicative of the sort of feelings in the town. He listened carefully, trying to pick up some threads of their conversation. "... this crazy war," one of them was saying. "What does Barr want to go conquer the world for?" "Quiet," said the other. "This place is full of his soldiers. You want to spend the rest of harvest season in jail?" The first farmer had evidently had a couple too many. He raised his voice. "I don't care if they do hear or not," he said thickly. "This is America, isn't it? _Isn't it?_" "It used to be. Shut up, Clyde. We'll get in trouble." * * * * * Riddell felt his pulse quicken. _Here's my opening_, he thought. Downing his beer, he dropped a coin on the bar and turned to confront the two farmers. His hand slipped to his holster. "Hey there, you two!" "You mean us?" the meeker of the two farmers said. "We didn't do anything!" "It isn't what you did," Riddell said loudly. He flicked an eye at the bartender and saw the man staring white-faced at him, livid with hatred. "It's what you said." He gestured with his holstered gun. "Suppose you two come along for questioning, maybe." One of the soldiers from the back table detached himself and came to the front of the bar. "Any trouble, Corporal?" Riddell looked at his uniform, saw that the other was a sergeant, and shook his head. "I can handle it, Sergeant. Thanks anyway. Come on, you two." He marched the farmers out into the street, which was still blessedly empty, and indicated that they should go to the end of the block and turn in at the side street. They did so and waited there, faces white, teeth chattering in terror.