Sixty feet in length they were, and beneath a low roof, that Ayna called a hood, there was a broad treadmill geared up with the eight huge wheels. Between eighty and a hundred thick-bodied little ponies were tied upon this raised moving belt. Above the hood lifted a sort of tower, its roof twenty feet above the ground, and here the two waggon drivers sat, steering the cumbersome vehicle with a spoked wooden wheel. Back of the cab was the covered cargo deck of the waggon where bags of grain, hides and other produce were heaped. One of the wooden blocks that had braked the enormous wheels was smoking and now it burst into flame. One of the drivers hastily tossed a bucket of water on the block and put it out. "Going through Hardpan City?" Horgan asked. "Climb aboard," cheerfully answered a runty driver with a huge dusty red moustache. He jabbed his thumb at the ladder bolted to the waggon's side. "You ride this waggon," Horgan said to Ayna and Orth. "I'll hop the next one." The red-moustached man helped them into the cab, his squinted pale eyes studying the girl appreciatively, and then he spoke to his hulking companion. This driver was a hairy apish giant without ears. Now he slowly released the brakes that locked the treadmill while Red Moustache freed the wheels. The treadmill revolved faster and faster and they went clanking and bumping off down the highroad, the miniature horses sweating in their involuntary struggle to keep on their feet. The great hooded vehicle had a pace of perhaps ten miles an hour. "I hear," shouted the little driver at Orth and Ayna, "that the Boss is sending a hundred men to New Yok soon. They're to hunt down the red jitterbugs and outlaws that range the highways." He paused long enough to catch his breath and curse the thick fog of dust that filled the cab. "A hundred soldiers to wipe out three or four thousand tea sellers and their gunmen!" He snorted. "Of course they're jeep men--Hoovers, you know--but they can't do any good." "The Boss is all wise," said the earless man, bumping his clenched fist against his nose. "He is the Boss." Orth turned to Ayna. "Now," he said, "who is Ivath?" The girl shrugged. "For a creation of Ivath's laboratories," she said, "you are refreshingly human. So I will treat you as one of us." Her eyes were thoughtful. "After all a robot does possess a limited power of reasoning." "Ivath!" Orth barked the word at her. "Forget the insults for the time being. I may look funny but I'm human." "Ivath is the director of our theater of space," she said. "This, as you know, is a huge hollow globe on whose surface world-wide dramas from the ages past are brought to life. He is painstakingly accurate in his depiction of the bygone dress, customs and speech." Orth laughed shortly. "Even to vehicles with horses for power," he said, "and guns without gunpowder."