Crawford said, "Thanks a lot, we can use you, especially since you speak Dogon, I don't think any of my group does. We're going to hold a big meeting in front of the square and give them a long monotonous talk, saying little but sounding as though we're promising a great deal. When we've taken most of the steam out of them, we'll locate the ringleaders and have a big indoor meeting. My boys will be spotted throughout the gang. They'll nominate me to be spokesman, and nominate each other to be my committee and we'll be sent to find El Hassan and urge him to take power. That should keep them quiet for a while. At least long enough for headquarters in Dakar to decide what to do." "Good Heavens," Donaldson said in admiration. "You Yanks are certainly good at this sort of thing." "Takes practice," Homer Crawford said. "If you want to help, ferret out the groups who speak Dogon and give them the word." Out of a sidestreet came running Abe Baker at the head of possibly two or three hundred arm waving, shouting, stick brandishing Africans. A few of them had banners which were being waved in such confusion that nobody could read the words inscribed. Most of them seemed to be younger men, even teen-agers. "Good Heavens," Donaldson said again. At first snap opinion, Crawford thought his assistant was being pursued and started forward to the hopeless rescue, but then he realized that Abe was heading the mob. Waving his staff, the New Yorker was shouting slogans, most of which had something to do with "El Hassan" but otherwise were difficult to make out. The small mob charged out of the street and through the square, still shouting. Abe began to drop back into the ranks, and then to the edge of the charging, gesticulating crowd. Already, though, some of them seemed to be slowing up, even stopping and drifting away, puzzlement or frustration on their faces. Those who were still at excitement's peak, charged up another street at the other side of the square. In a few moments, Abe Baker came up to them, breathing hard and wiping sweat from his forehead. He grinned wryly. "Man, those cats are way out. This is really Endsville." He looked up at where Isobel was haranguing her own crowd, which hadn't been fazed by the men who'd charged through the square going nowhere. "Look at old Isobel up there. Man, this whole town's like a combination of Hyde Park and Union Square. You oughta hear old Jake making with a speech." "What just happened?" Homer asked, motioning with his head to where the last elements of the mob Abe'd been leading were disappearing down a dead-end street. "Ah, nothing," Abe said, still watching Isobel and grinning at her. "Those cats were the nucleus of a bunch wanted to start some action. Burn a few cars, raid the library, that sort of jazz. So I took over for a while, led them up one street and down the other. I feel like I just been star at a track meet." "Good Heavens," Donaldson said still again.