DEATH OF A MUTANT By CHARLES V. De VET _illustrated by_ EMSH He was born with strange and wonderful powers. But the world was not yet ready to accept the benefit of those powers.--The world kills what it does not understand! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Super-Science Fiction February 1957. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The boy stood on the low hill with his head tipped back and his throat exposed to the early morning chill. He was dressed in faded trousers--from which most of the tan coloring had long since been washed away--and a coarse blue-denim work shirt. The wind swept his blond hair back in loose flat waves, and with soft insistence tugged at his slack-limbed body. He spread his legs wide, and breathed the morning air deep into his lungs. When he expelled the breath his shoulders relaxed, and his arms dropped to his sides, without strength. Slowly, with an effort of will, he brought his attention back to his surroundings. Below him a dog began an excited barking. The barking changed abruptly to a yelp, and stopped. The boy straightened and drew back a step. Down below a figure darted suddenly from a low patch of brush and ran to another, kicking up splashes of red sand. To his right a man's voice sounded a sharp cry of warning. The boy shivered. Somewhere below him a bird repeated, monotonously, a brief ripple of song. After a few minutes a block-chested man stepped into view. His shoulders were hunched in a black leather jacket. He looked apprehensively up at the boy. When nothing happened, he called, "I'm coming up. Keep your hands in plain sight." He started up the hill, measuring his steps purposefully. Once he paused and pulled at his broad-brimmed hat, then came on resolutely. There was a day's growth of whiskers on the man's chin and jowls, and despite the cold a shiny film of perspiration glistened on his cheeks. He drew a pistol from a chest holster as he approached. Two paces away, the man halted. "I'm Sheriff Derwin," he said in a stilted, unnormal voice. "I'm placing you under arrest. Do not resist. We have you surrounded." The boy made no reply, but continued to watch the man, blinking several times, as though considering what had been said. After a minute he spread his hands wide in a weary motion of acquiescence. "Good." Derwin gestured. Three men left their places in the brush and began to move cautiously up the hill. "I'll have to search him," Derwin said over his shoulder. His voice was too loud in the morning air. "Keep him covered. Remember, he's a killer." He holstered his own gun and moved unwillingly closer to the boy. "Raise your hands." The boy did as he was told; Derwin patted him quickly about the chest and hips.