The Kid heard it when he did, took his hands from his moist gun butts in a play at nonchalance and adjusted the black kerchief over his thin nose. Cutlass didn't say anything until the stage had come tearing hell for leather around the long bend, started spurting little plumes of dust from under its iron-rimmed wheels as it ground to a halt. One of the drivers started getting down. "OK," Cutlass said. * * * * * Only it wasn't OK. Even before they'd covered half the fifty yards, Cutlass saw the driver who had gotten down to go over for a look at Chico pull out his Colt and deliberately gunwhip the possum-playing Mexican across the head. Then he flopped flat on his belly and the doors of the stage slammed open even as the other driver was dropping from his perch, Winchester coming up as his boots slammed dust from the road. Two full squads of U.S. cavalry were firing even before the Kid had been able to get his guns out. He went down with five holes in him before he could cry out. Cutlass was already out of his saddle and choking on sand. Before his first Colt was empty three soldiers and one of the drivers were dead. But they were too damn many-- Cutlass cursed through the dust in his teeth and lunged for the Winchester still holstered on his pony's flank. The animal screamed as a slug tore through one of its legs but Cutlass had half emptied the Winchester's clip before the big corporal had got a slug through the pony's head and put it out of its misery. There were two quick pains in his right arm, so he had to aim and fire the rifle with his left, pump the best he could with his right. There wasn't any getting away. "Yer all through, Cutlass! Stand up and toss yer guns down or we'll save the state the cost of a trial!" "Start savin', blue-coat!" Cutlass groped at his belt to claw another handful of cartridges from it. His bleeding fingers felt a hard, square object. Something stirred somewhere deep inside his boiling brain. He was supposed to--_press it_! * * * * * _Far away, in another Space and in another Time, a smile spread slowly across an old man's wrinkled face. No, you couldn't change the blood in a man's veins! But perhaps--_ _Swiftly, his short thumby fingers played over a row of relays...._ * * * * * Cutlass swallowed the aspirin, picked up his brief-case and met his man in the spacious lobby. "Sorry to've kept you waiting, Prescott! Hope you didn't have a late deadline to make?" "No, sir, that's quite all right. Believe me, I'm pleased to have an opportunity for an interview with you at any time of day or night! You've made the best copy coming out of this town in many a column, sir!" "Well, thank you, Mr. Prescott. I believe in speaking freely to the press--" "I've a cab waiting right outside, sir." "Suppose we take my car? A little more privacy, I think--"