"Don't try to deny it! We know you did it. "Where are we, Garth? "You and your experiments!" Lee Garth ran his eyes around the circle. A small, wolfish-faced chap caught his attention. He recognized the man. Martin. A newspaper man. "Hello, Martin," Garth said. "What the hell have you done to us, Garth?" Martin said, scowling. He was truculent. He was also scared. He had a rock in his hand. "I--" Garth began. A man with a club stepped forward. "Whatever you've done, I want you to un-do it, see? You brought me here. You damned well better be ready to take me back, see! And be fast about it." "But that is impossible," Garth answered. "What!" "I can't take you back. I can't return you. You're here, and here you will have to stay." Anger ran through the group like a hurricane through a forest. "Damn you, Garth!" a voice growled. "What do you think we are--guinea pigs?" "You're going to take us home, or else!" "If you think you can move us into this damned country, where there ain't a house in sight and no sign there ever was one, you've got another think coming." "Darn you, Garth." In all the tumult Garth heard only one voice on his side, a girl's voice. "John Bruce," the girl said. "You give Mr. Garth a chance to explain. He didn't do this without a reason." "Aw, Jennie," the tall youth beside her answered. "You keep out of this. Garth brought us here without asking us, and he's darned well going to take us back." "But I can't," Lee Garth said firmly. Silence fell. In the silence Stella whispered. "Mr. Garth, we had better run, if we can. They won't listen, they don't want to listen. They're scared, and dangerous." The difference between a crowd and a mob is an angry voice expressing the thoughts lurking in the minds of all. "You can't return us, eh?" the angry voice said. "Well, we'll just fix your clock. Come on, boys!" Lee Garth would have stayed, but Stella pushed him, got him started. He fought his way through the circle of men. Then the two were running. The mob gave chase. The crack of a pistol shuddered behind them. A slug tore into a tree near Garth. The gun boomed again. Angry men screamed. Run, Garth thought. It wouldn't do much good, but the instinct was to run, to preserve life as long as possible. Run! Through the trees, up the hillside. Men were coming. Run. Was this the right turning? It was. Up the hill, up the nearer hill. Only he couldn't run much farther. His heart was beginning to hurt. Didn't matter. Death came to everything eventually, to Xerxes, to Leonidas, to Charles Martel, to Copernicus, and Galileo. Death was coming to him at the hands of those angry, frightened men, coming quickly, unless he found what he sought, what he knew was here, somewhere. Where was the thing he sought? He had to find it, quickly. He couldn't run much farther. They were at the top of the nearer hill. Then Garth saw what he was seeking.