have cost to keep it level.
'They have been here all the time,' said the census-taker. 'It takes them a little to show themselves. They come on slow and easy. They have no wish to frighten.'
'It is difficult,' said Cynthia, 'not to be frightened by ghosts. Or do you call them something else?'
'A better term,' said the census-taker, 'might be shades.'
'Why shades?' I asked.
'The reason,' said the census-taker, 'is one of somewhat involved semantics that would require an evening to explain. I am not sure I entirely understand myself. But it is the term they do prefer.'
'And you?' I asked. 'Exactly what are you?'
'I do not understand,' said the census-taker.
'Look, we are humans. These other folks are shades. The creatures we were watching were robots-metal wolves. A matter of classification. How are you classified?'
'Oh, that,' said the census-taker. 'That really is quite simple. I am a census-taker.'
'And the wolves,' said Cynthia. 'I suppose they are Cemetery.'
'Oh, yes, indeed,' said the census-taker, 'although now only rarely used. In the early days there was much work for them to do.'
I was puzzled. 'What kind of work?' I asked.
'Monsters,' said the census-taker and I could see that he did not want to talk about it.
The shades had stopped their incessant fluttering and were beginning to settle down so that one could see or at least guess at the shape of them.
'They like you,' said the census-taker. 'They know you're on their side.'
'We're not on anyone's side,' I told him. 'We're just running like hell to keep from getting clipped. Ever since we arrived there has been someone taking potshots at us.' One of the shades had squatted down beside the census-taker, shedding, as it did so, some of its nebulous, misty quality and becoming not solid by any means, but a little more solid. One still had a sense of being able to see through them, but the swirly lines had stilled and the outlines were sharper, and this squatting thing looked something like a rather arty drawing made upon a blackboard with a piece of chalk.
'If you do not mind,' said the arty piece of drawing, 'I will introduce myself. My name was one that in the days long since struck terror on the planet Prairie, which is a strange name for a planet, but easily explained, because it is a very great planet, somewhat larger than the Earth and with land masses that are considerably larger than the areas of the oceans and all that land is flat, with no mountain, and all the land is prairie. There is no winter since the winds blow wild and free and the heat from the planet's sun is equitably distributed over the entire planetary surface. We settlers of Prairie lived in an eternal summer. We were, of course, humans from the planet Earth, our forebears landing on Prairie in their third migration outward into the galaxy, hopping from one planet to another in an attempt to find better living space, and on Prairie we found it-but perhaps not the way you think. We built no great cities, for reasons which I may explain later, but not now, since it would take too long to tell. Rather, we became roaming nomads with our flocks and herds, which is, perhaps a more satisfactory way of life than any other man has been able to devise. There dwelt upon this planet a native population of most slimy, most ferocious and sneaky devils that refused to cooperate in any way with us and which did their best, in various nefarious ways, to do away with us. I started out, I think, to introduce myself, then forgot to tell my name. It is a good Earth name, for my family and my clan were always very careful to keep alive the heritage of Earth and-'
'His name,' said the census-taker, interrupting, 'is Ramsay O'Gillicuddy, which is, in all conscience, a good Earth name. I tell it to you because, if left to him, he'd never manage to get around to it.'
'And now,' said the shade of Ramsay O'Gillicuddy, 'since I have been introduced, I'll tell you the story of my life.'
'No, you won't,' said the census-taker. 'We haven't got the time. There is much we must discuss.'
'Then the story of my death.'
'All right,' the census-taker said, 'if you keep it short.'
'They caught me,' said Ramsay O'Gillicuddy's shade, 'and made me a captive, these slimy, greasy natives. I shall not detail the situation which led to this shameful thing, for it would require the explanation of certain circumstances which the census-taker infers there is not the time to tell. But they caught me, anyhow, and then they held a long deliberate discussion, within my hearing, which I did not at all enjoy, about how best to dispose of me. None of the suggested procedures calculated to bring about my demise were pretty for the prospective victim to hold in contemplation. Nothing simple, you understand, such as a blow upon the head or a cutting of the throat, but all rather long, drawn-out, and intricate operations. Finally, after hours of talking back and forth, during which they politely invited my personal reactions to each plan put forward, they decided upon skinning me alive, explaining that they would not really be killing me and that because of this I should bear them no ill-will and that if I could manage to survive without my skin they would be glad to let me go. Once they had my skin, they informed me, they intended tanning it to make a drum upon which they could beat out a message of mockery to my clan.'
'With all due respect,' I said, 'with a lady present…' but he paid no attention to me. 'After I was dead,' he said, 'and my body had been found, my clan decided to do a thing that had never been done before. All our honored dead had been buried on the prairie, with the graves unmarked, in the thought that a man could ask no more than to become one with the world that he had trod. Word had come to us some years ago of the Cemetery here on Earth, but we had paid slight attention to it because it was not our way. But now the clan met in council and decided that I should be accorded the honor of sleeping in the soil of Mother Earth. So a large barrel was made to house my poor remains which, pickled in alcohol, were carted to the planet's one poor spaceport where the barrel was stored for many months, awaiting the arrival of a ship, on which it was finally taken to the nearest port where a funeral ship made regular calls.'
'You cannot comprehend,' said the census-taker, 'what this decision cost his clan. They are poor people on the planet Prairie and their only wealth is counted in their flocks and herds. It took them many years to build back the livestock that was required for Cemetery to perform its services. It was a noble sacrifice and it's a pity that it came out so sadly. Ramsay, as you may guess, was and still is the only inhabitant of Prairie ever to be buried in Cemetery-not that he was really buried there, not, at least, in quite the manner that had been intended. The officials of Cemetery, not the present management, but one of many years ago, happened at that time to need an extra casket to hide away certain items…'
'You mean artifacts,' I said. 'You know of this?' asked the census-taker. 'We suspected it,' I said.
'Your suspicions are quite right,' said the census-taker, 'and our poor friend here was one of the victims of their treachery and greed. His casket was used for artifacts and what was left of him was thrown into a deep gorge, a natural charnel pit, at the Cemetery's edge, and ever since that day his shade has wandered the Earth, as do so many others and for the self-same reason.'
'You tell it welt,' said O'Gillicuddy, 'and in very simple truth.'
'But let us not, please,' said Cynthia, 'have any more of this. You have us quite convinced.'
'We have not the time for more,' said the census-taker. 'We now must deliberate upon what further action the two of you should take. For once the wolves catch up with your two good friends, they will realize immediately that you are not with them and since Cemetery cares nothing about the two robots, but only for yourselves…'
'They'll come back for us,' said Cynthia, sounding scared.
I wasn't too brave about it, either. I did not like the thought of those great metal brutes snapping at our heels.
'How do they follow?' I asked.
'They have a sense of smell,' said the census-taker. 'Not the same kind you humans have, but the ability to pick up and recognize the chemicals of odors. They have sharp sight. They might have trouble if you kept to high and stony ground, where you'd leave little trace and the scent of your passing would not cling. I had feared they might catch the scent of you when they came by a while ago, but you were higher than they were and a kindly up- draft of air must have carried the smell away from them.'
'They will be following the horses,' I said. 'The trail will be wide open. They'll travel fast. It may be only a few hours from now they'll Find we're not with the others.'
'You'll have a little time,' said the census-taker. 'It's a few hours yet till dawn and you can't start until it's light. You'll have to travel fast and you can carry little with you.'
'We'll take food' said Cynthia, 'And blankets…'
