Perhaps ... but if that was the case, why let him get here at all? His "accident"--fatal, of course (so sorry!)--could just as well have occurred on the way. No, more likely he was still on probation. They were not quite sure of him, but were giving him the benefit of the doubt. The leader seemed to like him, in a curious way. Well, he was now warned, and would watch himself more carefully than ever ... and he had learned a lot, and would learn more. He smiled contentedly and went back to sleep. * * * * * The next day he had his first taste of guarding the natives as they worked. The superintendent himself inducted him into the task. Shortly before shift time, Philander appeared at Hanlon's room just as the young man was putting on the special clothing he had been told to wear on duty in the mine. "Ready?" Philander was strangely courteous and co-operative. "Let's go collect your crew." They went over to the stockade, the superintendent giving Hanlon a key as they unlocked the gates. Hanlon saw that the corral was divided into twelve sections. "One guard has charge of all the natives in one section, and they all work each shift," Philander explained. "What if one of them is sick?" "They don't get sick," the man's voice was gruff, and Hanlon's first thought was that what he really meant was that the natives were worked no matter how they felt. But he quickly became ashamed of the thought--he didn't know anything about them yet, and perhaps they actually never did get sick. He would have to quit jumping to conclusions that way--it would seriously retard his ability to make correct deductions. At the rearmost section, Philander opened another gate with the same key, and flashed his portable glo-light inside the large hut that covered most of the space of the section. Hanlon, close behind, could see about twenty of the "Greenies," as he had learned they were usually called, standing or lying about. There was no furniture inside, no chairs nor stools, tables or beds. "They eat and sleep standing up--that's why the huts don't need any furnishings," Philander explained. At sight of the men and the light, most of the natives began moving toward the door. A few at the back didn't move fast enough to satisfy Philander, and with a curse he ran back and touched them with that shock-rod he carried. Hanlon could see an expression of agony on the faces of those touched, and as they writhed away from the rod he realized it must be very painful, indeed, if not exquisite torture to them. They now jumped forward, and huddled pathetically near the door. Philander took a long, light but very tough line from his pocket. It had a series of running nooses in it, and he slipped one of these about the wrist of each native, drawing it tight. Then he half-led, half-dragged them out of the stockade, to the mine entrance, and down the drift to the rise they had to climb to get to the stope Hanlon's crew was to work.