Conger asked. "Go on. Conger scowled. His lips twisted. "All right," he said. "Leave that out. Get to the point. "Where are we? "Come. Through that door." Suddenly he became alert. The First Church." He stopped. "All right?" Conger could see other soldiers inside, standing about,
young soldiers with large eyes, gazing at the ikons and holy images. You will see." "In here. We have to hurry. There was a smell of ashes and smoldering
spices in the room. The smell." "Cups on the wall. I don't know." Of course not. Conger shrugged. "No. "In
there." Conger squatted down, staring in. He stared down at the bones, dimly
visible in the recess of the wall. Conger was a hunter, a man who had lived as he pleased, where he
pleased. "Come. "The Founder was an obscure person from a small town in the American
Middle West. "The Founder preached this doctrine, or the germ of it; there's no
telling how much the faithful have added themselves. Well, there were no more wars. Conger went over to the table, pushing past them. He bent down, staring
at the bones. "The Founder. "But now we have them. Technicians looked up. "Yes. "By the way," the Speaker said. He turned the wheel carefully. Conger went to the door and stepped
outside. Then he went back into the cage. That was important. He walked down the road toward the town. April 5,
1961. He was not too far off. He looked around him. There was a filling
station, a garage, some taverns, and a ten-cent store. The librarian looked up, smiling. He needed more. he asked. "More papers. She frowned. "Months old. And--before." This is all we have. He was silent. he said. "Old papers. A month. Or more." "Yes." "Sure. "Here are some," he grunted. December, 1960. He smiled. He turned the corner. Suddenly her face turned white. Conger hurried on. He looked back. He
increased his speed. He turned a second corner and went up a side
street. He pondered. But not for very long. "Out of the cold." "Thanks." Conger went gratefully through the open door, into the
living-room. "Yes." "No." He smiled. "I was born in this country. "No." He hesitated. "In Oregon." Conger was lost. He shifted uneasily. He was puzzled. he said. "Certainly." For that he was
grateful. he said. "Just looking." He walked back behind the counter. "Looks funny to me. Marx. Ed laughed. "Sure." He flushed a little. Conger turned quickly, dropping his hand to his belt. He relaxed. He smiled at them. Sure." "Where are you from?" "I was born there. I know everybody there." "I just moved in. From Oregon." "Talk some more. "I have a speech impediment." "Oh." "Strangers." "No." "Not very much." "I guess so." Conger hesitated. "No. He could not remember. He stopped. "No." "Not at all." "Same as she has." She
smiled at him. "By the way. Lora Hunt." "Conger is my name," he murmured. He hesitated. "Last. Omar Conger." She laughed. She was staring. He flushed. "Where I come from," he
finished. "The Church? "The Church." Conger nodded. Conger nodded. He stared
at them. Conger turned. "Hello." "Well." Bill sat down. "Hello, Lora." He was looking at Conger. Conger tensed. "No. There was silence. "Come on. She was astonished. "Why?" Conger sized the boy up. "Sorry," Conger said. Bill asked. He shrugged. "No reason. He turned away. And froze. _No more. Conger cursed. There was only a half-amp to it. Tingle, and paralyze. He walked out the door without looking back. Conger went on. He stopped, holding his breath. "Who is it?" "Who is it?" Conger moved. "Conger is my name. There
was a gun at his waist. "The fountain. Conger blinked. "All right." The light flickered to the ground. "You were
there. "Why?" They all blacked out. "All right." There was silence. Conger laughed. "No. There
was a leak, and the fluid ignited." "Fumes." Silence. He grunted. He
stepped back from Conger. Before you go. "No. Not at all." "Okay. Sorry to bother you." The light winked off. he said. She studied him. "The first of December." Suddenly he remembered. He gasped. "Thanks." He stopped to look around. There was no one in
sight. Conger sighed. After all, it was his only way back. He walked up on the ridge. He looked around with some satisfaction, his
hands on his hips. Here, he would speak to them. No. There was the neat plastic package. He held the skull in his hands, turning it over. He stared at her. Her
breast was rising and falling. Silently, they looked at each other. he said. She pointed. he said. He looked in the direction
she had pointed. "They are. The police. All around, everywhere. She stopped,
gasping. "Thanks. "No. From town." "Joe French. The plumber. "Yes. The plumber shrugged. He turned around. "People from the town. Conger could, make out a couple of them. Come on, Lora." "Why?" "There may be shooting. "Yes." Take the girl with you." The plumber started up the motor. "Like vultures. Suddenly he put the gun down. He picked up the skull. He turned the
skull over. He looked at the teeth. Then he went to the mirror. He held the skull up, looking in the mirror. And he knew. He was
the Founder. He turned toward the skull. It
was an old story, in this century. It was a rock. He smiled. He smiled. There was a flurry of murmuring. "I have a gun," he went on. He remembered. The day at the library. At the time, he
did not understand why. Conger grinned. An afternoon. Those who kill, will die. The police were coming out, walking
toward him. He smiled.