the small bare feet, but instead cradled one foot in her hand. 'You know what, Mark?' she said softly. 'It's just dawned on me what you were saying about Lala. You were saying that this foot might have walked on another world! It just doesn't seem possible!' 'Well, try this thought, then.' Mark pushed back from his desk, stretching widely and yawning. 'If that world was very far away or their speed not too fast, that foot may never have touched a world anywhere. She may have been born en route.' 'Oh, I don't think so,' said Meris, 'she knows too much about-about-things for that to be so. She knew to look in water for that-that vehicle of hers and she knew to wash her doll in running water and to spread clothes in the sun to dry. If she'd lived her life in Space-' 'Hmm!' Mark tapped his mouth with his pencil. 'You could be right, but there might be other explanations for her knowledge. But then, maybe the real explanation of Lala is a very pedestrian one.' He smiled at her unbelieving smile and went back to work. Meris was awake again in the dark. She stretched comfortably and smiled. How wonderful to be able to awaken in the dark and smile instead of slipping inevitably into the aching endless grief and despair. How pleasant to be able to listen to Mark's deep breathing and Lala's little murmur as she turned on the camp cot beside the bed. How warm and relaxing the flicker of firelight from the cast-iron stove patterning ceiling and walls dimly. She yawned and stopped in mid-stretch. What was that? Was that what had wakened her? There was a guarded thump on the porch, a fumbling at the door, an audible breath and then, 'Mr. Edwards! Are you there?' The voice was a forced whisper. Meris's hand closed on Mark's shoulder. He shrugged away in his sleep, but as her lingers tightened, he came wide awake, listening. 'Mr. Edwards!' 'Someone for Lala!' Meris gasped and reached toward the sleeping child. 'No,' said Mark. 'It's Tad Winstel.' He lifted his voice. 'Just a minute, Tad!' There was a muffled cry at the door and then silence. Mark padded barefoot to the door, blinking as he snapped the lights on, and, unlatching the door, swung it open. 'Come on in, fellow, and close the door. It's cold.' He shivered back for his jacket and sneakers. Tad slipped in and stood awkwardly thin and lanky by the door, hugging his arms to himself convulsively. Mark opened the stove and added a solid chunk of oak. 'What brings you here at this hour?' he asked calmly. Tad shivered. 'It isn't you, then,' he said, 'but it's bad trouble. You told me that gang was no good to mess around with. Now I know it. Can they hang me for just being there?' His voice was very young and shaken. 'Come over here and get warm,' said Mark. 'For being where?' 'In the car when it killed the guy.' 'Killed!' Mark fumbled the black lid-lifter. 'What happened?' 'We were out in that Porsche of Rick's, just tearing around seeing how fast it could take that winding road on the other side of Sheep's Bluff.' Tad gulped. 'They called me chicken because I got scared. And I am! I saw Mr. Stegemeir after his pickup went off the road by the fish hatchery last year and I-I can't help remembering it. Well, anyway-' His voice broke off and he gulped. 'Well, they made such good time that they got to feeling pretty wild and decided to come over on this road and-' His eyes dropped away from Mark's and his feet moved apologetically. 'They wanted to find some way to get back at you again.' Then his words tumbled out in a wild spurt of terror. 'All at once there was this man. Out of nowhere! Right in the road! And we hit him! And knocked him clear off the road. And they weren't even going to stop, but I gabbed the key and made them! I made them back up and I got out to look for the man. I found him. All bloody. Lying in the bushes. I tried to find out where he was bleeding-they-they went off and left me there with him!' His voice was outraged. 'They didn't give a darn about that poor guy! They went off and left him lying there and me with not even a flashlight!' Mark had been dressing rapidly. 'He may not be dead,' he said, reaching for his cap. 'How far is he?' 'The other side of the creek bridge,' said Tad. 'We came the Rim way. Do you think he might-' 'We'll see,' said Mark. 'Meris, give me one of those army blankets and get Lala off the cot. We'll use that for a stretcher. Build the fire up and check the first aid kit.' He got the Coleman lantern from the storeroom, then he and Tad gathered up the canvas cot and went out into the chilly darkness. Lala fretted a little, then, curled in the warmth Mark had left, she slept again through all the bustling about as Meris prepared for Mark's return. Meris ran to the door when she heard their feet in the yard. She flung the outer door wide and held the screen as they edged the laden cot through the door. 'Is he-?' 'Don't think so.' Mark grunted as they lowered the cot to the floor. 'Still bleeding from the cut on his head and I don't think dead men bleed. Not this long, anyway. Get a gauze pad, Meris, and put pressure on the cut. Tad, get his boots off while I get his shirt ' Meris glanced up from her bandage as Mark's voice broke off abruptly. He was staring at the shirt. His eyes caught Meris's and he ran a finger down the front of the shirt. No buttons. Meris's mouth opened, but Mark shook his head warningly. Then, taking hold of the muddied shirt, he gently tuned both sides back away from the chest that was visibly laboring now. Meris's hands followed the roll of the man's head, keeping the bandage in place, but her eyes were on the bed where Lala had turned away from the light and was burrowed nearly out of sight under the edge of Mark's pillow. Tad spoke from where he was struggling with the man's boots. 'I thought it was you, Mr. Edwards,' he said. 'I nearly passed out when you answered the door. Who else could it have been? No one else lives way out here and I couldn't see his face. I knew he was bleeding because my hands-' He broke off as one boot thumped to the floor. 'And we knocked him so far! So high! And I thought it was you!' He shuddered and huddled over the other boot. 'I'm cured, honest, Mr. Edwards. I'm cured. Only don't let him die. Don't let him die!' He was crying now, unashamed. 'I'm no doctor,' said Mark, 'but I don't think he's badly hurt. Lots of scratches, but that cut on his head seems to he the worst.' 'The bleeding's nearly stopped,' said Meris. 'And his eyes are fluttering.' Even as she spoke, the eyes opened, dark and dazed, the head turning restlessly. Mark leaned over the man. 'Hello,' he said, trying to get the eyes to focus on him. 'You're okay. You're okay. Only a cut-' The man's head stilled. He blinked and spoke, his eyes closing before his words were finished. 'What did he say?' asked Tad. 'What did he say?' 'I don't know,' said Mark. 'And he's gone again. To sleep, this time, I hope. I'm quite sure he isn't dying.' Later when Mark was satisfied that the man was sleeping, in the warm pajamas he and Tad had managed to wrestle him into, he got dressed in clean clothes and had Tad wash up, and put on a clean flannel shirt in place of his bloodstained one. 'We're going to the sheriff, after we find the doctor,' he told Tad. 'We're going to have to take care of those kids before they do kill someone or themselves. And you, Tad, are going to have to put the finger on them whether you like it or not. You're the only witness-' 'But if I do, then I'll get in trouble, too-' began Tad. 'Look, Tad,' said Mark patiently, 'if you walk in mud, you get your feet muddy. You knew when you got involved with these fellows that you were wading in mud. Maybe you thought it didn't matter much. Mud is easy to wash off. That might be true of mud, but what about blood?' 'But Rick's not a juvenile any more-' Tad broke off before the grim tightening of Mark's face. 'So that's what they've been trading on. So he's legally accountable now? Nasty break!' After they were gone, Meris checked the sleeping man again. Then, crawling into bed, shoving Lala gently toward the back of the bunk, she cuddled, shivering under the bedclothes. She became conscious of the steady outflow of warmth from Lala and smiled as she fanned her cold hands out under the cover toward the small body. 'Bless the little heater!' she said. Her eyes were sleepy and closed in spite of her, but her mind still raced with excitement and wonder. What if Mark was right? What if Lala had come from a spaceship! What if this man, sleeping under their own blankets on their own cot, patched by their own gauze and adhesive, was really a Man
