by H. B. Fyfe
and under the collar of his jacket. Then theyswung back to the road.
"Good!" breathed Blackie. "The rollin' stuff's goin' first."
The truck and bulldozers set out toward the city, with the column ofrobots marching a fair distance behind. The latter approached theambush--drew abreast--began to pass.
Blackie raised himself to a crouch with just the tips of his fingerssteadying him.
* * * * *
As the last robot plodded by, he surged out of the brush, joined to RedMike by their grips on the twenty feet of rope. They ran up behind themarching machine, trailed by the others.
In his right hand, Blackie twirled the part of the rope hanging betweenhim and Mike. On the second swing, he got it over the head of the robot.He saw Mike brace himself.
The robot staggered. It pivoted clumsily to its left, groping vaguelyfor the hindrance. Mike and Blackie tugged again, and the machine woundup facing them in its efforts to maintain balance. Its companionsmarched steadily along the road.
"Switch ends!" barked Blackie.
Alert, Mike tossed him the other end of the rope and caught Blackie's.They ran past the robot on either side, looping it in. Blackie keptgoing until he was above the ditch. He wound a turn of rope about hisforearm and plunged down the bank.
_With skill of long practice, they brought the robotdown._]
A shower of gravel spattered after him as Mike jammed his heels into theshoulder of the highway to anchor the other end. Then he heard thebooming sound of the robot's fall.
Blackie clawed his way up the bank. Vito and Sid were smashing furiouslyat the floundering machine. Mike danced about the melee with baredteeth, charging in once as if to leap upon the quarry with both feet.Frustrated by the peril of the whirling two-by-fours, he swept uphandfuls of gravel to hurl.
Blackie turned to run for one of the axes. Just then, Sid struck home tothe head of the robot.
Sparks spat out amid a tinkle of glass. The machine ceased all motion.
"All right!" panted Blackie. "All _right_! That's enough!"
They stepped back, snarls fading. A handful of gravel trickled throughMike's fingers and pattered loudly on the concrete. Gradually, the menbegan to straighten up, seeing the robot as an inert heap of metalrather than as a weird beast in its death throes.
"We better load up an' get," said Blackie. "We wanna be over on thetrail if they send somethin' up the road to look for _this_."
Vito dragged the robot off the highway by the head, and they began thetask of lashing it to the two-by-fours.
It was about two hours later when they plodded around a street corneramong the ruins and stopped before a fairly intact building. By thattime, they had picked up an escort of dirty, half-clad children who ranahead to spread the news.
Two other men and a handful of women gathered around with eagerexclamations. The hunters dropped their catch.
"Better get to work on him," said Blackie, glancing at the sky. "Be darksoon."
The men who had remained as guards ran inside the entrance of polishedgranite and brought out tools: hammers, crowbars, hatchets. Behind themhurried women with basins and large cans. The original four, weary fromthe weight of the robot despite frequent pauses on the trail, steppedback.
"Where first, Blackie?" asked one of the men, waiting for the women tountangle the rope and timbers.
"Try all the joints. After that, we'll crack him open down the middlefor the main supply tank."
He watched the metal give way under the blows. As the robot wasdismembered, the fluid that had lubricated the complex mechanism flowedfrom its wounds and was poured by the women into a five-gallon can.
"Bring a cupful, Judy," Blackie told his woman, a wiry blond girl. "Iwanna see if it's as good as the last."
He lit a stick at the fire as they crossed the littered, once-ornatelobby, and she followed him down a dim hall. He pulled aside the skinsthat covered their doorway, then stumbled his way to the table. Thewindow was still uncovered against the night chill, but it looked out ona courtyard shadowed by towering walls. To eyes adjusted to the sunnystreet, the room was dark.
Judy poured the oil into the makeshift lamp, waited for the rag wick tosoak, and held it out to Blackie. He lit the wick from his stick.
"It burns real good, Blackie," the girl said, wrinkling her nose againstthe first oily smoke. "Gee, you're smart to catch one the first dayout."
"Tell them other dames to watch how they use it!" he warned. "Thisoughta last a month or more when we get him all emptied."
He blew out the dying flame on the stick and dropped the charred woodthoughtfully to the floor.
"Naw, I ain't so smart," he admitted, "or I'd figure a way to make oneof them work the garden for us. Maybe someday--but _this_ kind won't donothin' but fix that goddam road, an' what good's that to anybody?"
His woman moved the burning lamp carefully to the center of the table.
"Anyway, it's gonna be better'n last winter," she said. "We'll havelights now."