"I wonder," thought Jeter, "why the kid didn't say he saw those five columns move--like a five-legged animal, walking." Silly, of course, but behind the silliness of the thought Jeter thought there might be something of interest, something on which to work. The Jeter-Eyer space ship still was not finished--though almost--when the world moved into the third week since the disappearance of Franz Kress. An Indian in the Southwest had reported seeing one of those columns of light. However, this merited just a line on about page sixteen, even of the newspaper closest to the spot where the redskin had seen the column. "Eyer," said Jeter at last, "we've got to start digging into newspaper stories, especially into stories which deal with unusually queer happenings throughout the world. I've a hunch that the keys to Kress' disappearance may be found in some of them, or a combination of a great many of them." "How do you mean, Lucian?" "Don't you notice that all this queer stuff has been happening since Kress left? It sounds silly, perhaps, but I feel sure that the disappearance of those steers in Wyoming, the story the boy told about the columns of light--yes, all five of them!--and the Indian's partial confirmation of it, are all tied up together with the disappearance of Kress." * * * * * Eyer started to grin his disbelief, but a look at his partner's tense face stopped him. "What could want all those steers, Lucian?" said Eyer softly. "I can't think of anything or anybody disposing of such a bunch on such short notice, except a marching army, a marching column of soldier ants, or all the world's buzzards gathered together at one place. In any case the animals themselves would have created a fuss, would have kicked up so much noise that somebody would have heard. But this story of the steers seems to suggest, or say right out loud--though I know you can't believe everything in the newspapers--that the steers vanished in utter silence." "Doesn't it also seem funny to you," went on Jeter, "that the vanishing of the herd wasn't discovered until next morning? I've read enough Western stuff to know that a herd always makes noise. Yes, even at night. The cowhands wouldn't have lost a wink of sleep over that. But, listen, Tema, suppose you lived in New York City near some busy intersection which was always noisy, even after midnight--and all the noise suddenly stopped. Would you sleep right on through it?" "No, I'd wake up--unless I were drunk or doped." "Yet nobody seems to have wakened at that ranch when--and it must have happened--the herd stopped making any noise whatever. The utter silence _should_ have wakened seasoned cowhands. It didn't. Why? What happened to them that they slept so soundly they heard nothing?" Eyer did not answer. It wasn't the first time he had been called upon to hear Jeter think out loud. "It all ties up somehow," repeated Jeter, "and I intend to find out how."