McCullough shook his head again. "This is my house. Henry, you've been my friend, but I just shot two people for coming in here without knocking." Watts looked around at the men behind him. Most of them knew McCullough. They did not seem taken with the idea of breaking into his house. Watts swung back to McCullough. "John," he said ominously, "you're just making trouble for yourself, that's all." McCullough simply shook his head and stood blocking the doorway. Watts glanced around at the other men again. One of them shrugged self-consciously and turned away, and after a moment the others trailed after. "All right," Watts growled. He shook his fist under McCullough's nose. "All right, John McCullough, I'll remember this, and I'll be back. Native-lover!" He spat on the step and went off after the others. McCullough watched them go, uneasy under his surface stolidity. He liked to be on good terms with his neighbors, not enough to give in to them on anything he felt strongly about, but he knew this would be held against him, and it worried him, more for the sake of Mary and the kids than for himself. He sensed his wife standing behind him. "What did they want?" she asked. He told her. "But, John, why? Haven't we had enough trouble today? Do you _have_ to get in a fight with your neighbors over a stupid native? What difference does it make to you?" McCullough shook his head helplessly. "I don't know. I just don't like the idea, that's all." His wife stared wordlessly at him for a moment. She went into the kitchen and sat down at the table and began crying again. The children ran to her and began whimpering also. McCullough prowled restlessly about the living-room, stooping now and then to peer out the windows as men shouted and ran by. The native lay silent on the cot, unmoving except for his eyes which followed McCullough. McCullough stopped and studied the Centauran resentfully. Goddam natives, he thought, all they cause is trouble. He bent over and loosened the strap on the leg until fresh blood started to ooze out and then tightened it again. The Centauran winced a little and closed his eyes briefly, but made no other sign. Ought to have morphine, McCullough thought, but would morphine work on a Centauran? He didn't know. He pulled a chair over to the window, where he could watch both doors and the cot, and sat down with the gun across his knees. The riot was apparently still booming along. Men trotted by outside now and then, singly or in little groups, calling to each other. Once several went by with another Centauran corpse slung hand and foot to a pole. There were no women or children in sight, those houses with blinds had them down, the tent-flaps were tightly drawn. There was no indication of any attempt by the authorities to halt the riot. Possibly Tallant had not gotten through, or possibly Watts was right, the Administration was keeping hands off.