McLeod toyed with his parabeam, then watched as matching weapons leaped into the hands of the two younger gunmen. "What paper, guy?" the older one drawled. McLeod felt his heart flutter wildly and checked a strong impulse to laugh. One of the young gunmen said, "I thought the big boy himself was covering this. Wainwright. I know what he looks like." "Come on, guy. What paper?" McLeod knew the mistake could be fatal. Somehow the _World_ had learned what the _Star-Times_ had planned for Mayor Spurgess. These men were _World_ gunmen, come to thwart Lantrel's men. Perhaps they could, but McLeod might die in the process. "Listen," he said desperately. "The other day, Weaver Wainwright made me a proposition." "Who _are_ you?" "Darius McLeod. Hold on, damn it! If you freeze me now, you'll be making a mistake. Wainwright wanted me to work for the _World_. That's why I'm here, don't you understand? I can tell you exactly what the _Star-Times_ is going to do." "We already know, McLeod. You're skating where the signs say not to, guy. I guess you know that." "Won't Wainwright be here? Ask him." "Don't know if he will or not." One of the younger gunmen had circled around behind McLeod. The other one stood facing him, pointing the parabeam at his chest. The older man seemed to be enjoying himself. "I don't want Spurgess killed," McLeod said. "That's the truth. I came here to prevent it myself." "Can you tell me why?" "No--yes. Because I want to accept Wainwright's proposition. The _World_ said I was going to die. Wainwright offered me life." "We know that you're going to die." McLeod sucked in his breath. This same wholesome trio had probably received the application for his own death, had probably studied his habit file. "Not before next week," McLeod said. "Now, I don't know. It's a gift horse, guy. They won't hold up our checks for a couple of hours either way." "No, but you'll spend the rest of your life as a gunman if you cross Wainwright." The voice behind McLeod's back seemed bodiless and as cold as the falling snow. "What's wrong with that?" "You wouldn't understand," McLeod said without turning. "He would." He would win his life the moment he won over the shorter man. His two companions did not matter. "Look. The Gunman Editor on the _World_ is near retirement, isn't he? You look like you've been around, but you won't be considered for the job if Wainwright bears a grudge." "He's pretty smooth," the young gunman with the parabeam said. "Why do you think I'm here at all?" McLeod insisted. "I didn't know you were coming. I came to prevent this thing myself." * * * * * The man behind McLeod muttered a curse and said, "You came here for the same reason you always go out on an assignment. To get the story." But the older man said, "Have you any proof?" "Only Wainwright. Ask him when he gets here." "_If_ he decides to come," said the man with the parabeam.