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<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> Curiosity centered for a while upon the outlaw, who was making a slow recovery. She—for after a few days her sex had become general knowledge—kept moodily to herself, having little to do with the other women and regarding the men with suspicion. She gave her real name as Norma Hegstrom. DuChane, by persistent questioning, elicited the additional fact that she had escaped from some institution—possibly a school of correction—and adopted her masquerade on coming West in order to elude the search. "The way I've got it figured out," he confided to Sally and Marlin, as they sat listlessly on the platform under the periscope, "in order to make good in her boy's disguise and to offset her underlying feminine appearance, she had to act tougher than any of the roughnecks she was thrown with. So, by degrees, she was drawn into the career of an outlaw. "You'd almost think," he added reflectively, "that Earth spewed out this gang because we're a bunch of what the sociologists call unassimilable elements." "What do you mean by that?" snapped Sally. "With all respect to those present, I suppose we could be spared about as well as any you could mention. Nobody here seems to have any home ties. There's no one back on Earth whose life will be affected by our departure. We haven't contributed anything constructive to society—in fact, on the average, we've been just general nuisances." Marlin looked at him curiously. "You're implying—" "I'm not implying a thing," DuChane evaded. He twisted around and picked up a jagged disc of metal. "We've got more serious problems to face. Recognize this?" "It's the piece Slinky cut out of the opening with the blowtorch." "Ever look at it?" Marlin studied the other's face under the swinging shadows. Then he took the metal disc and peered at it closely. Sally glanced from one serious face to the other. "Well," she demanded, "what's it all about?" Without a word, Marlin passed her the fragment. "Link said the blowtorch cut through it like butter," DuChane remarked grimly. "We've noticed how the clay covering digests waste material—tin cans included." Sally turned the piece over curiously, ran her fingers over the serrated surface, held it up to the light. "So that's all there is between us and—" She hesitated. "Why it's half eaten through in places—like something rusted. Is it my imagination, or can you see through it?" "Imagination," assured Marlin. He took the fragment and held it before his eyes. "No, by thunder! A couple of pinpoint holes have been eaten clear through it." After a moment, Sally slowly rose. "No use saying anything to the others," Marlin suggested, noting the listless drag of her bare feet as she started toward the ladder. She glanced over her shoulder disdainfully. "What do you take me for?" But the secret was not long in becoming general property. Len McGruder, who seemed to prefer devious and furtive ways of accomplishing even obvious things, must have been listening from one of many possible hiding places, or at least observing from a distance, for he produced the steel fragment at the next mealtime gathering. "What's this about the old ball goin' to pieces?" he demanded. "What're you tryin' to put over?" Marlin eyed him with distaste. "As far as you are concerned," he said slowly, "nothing. There's only one reason why I denied myself the pleasure of letting you know the fate in store for you—and that's because I knew you were so yellow you'd spill it and frighten the rest." "Yellow, eh!" McGruder jumped to his feet in a rage. He appealed to the group. "What do you think of this bird—and a couple of others I could mention—" he glanced meaningly at DuChane and Sally—"gettin' their heads together to figger out a way of savin' theirselves while the rest of us is left to rot in this stinkin' blob of mud? How's that for yellow?" DuChane laughed mirthlessly. "If there's any comfort in the knowledge," he said, "there'll be no escape for any of us. The mud coating has a faculty of digesting every inert substance it contacts. Very convenient for taking care of our waste products—but unfortunate because it applies also to our habitation." "You mean it's gonna eat through the shell?" demanded Link, his weasel eyes glittering. Marlin shrugged. "But we gotta do something! Does Eli know?" The slinky one peered around the table, finding no reassurance in any of the blank faces. He gulped and subsided. Later, he and McGruder constituted themselves a delegation to lay the problem before the scientist. Eli had practically barricaded himself in the control room. At his bellowed command meals were brought to him at irregular intervals by Maw Barstow. He rarely appeared outside of his retreat, except when he ventured forth briefly for a peep through the periscope. "What'd he say?" demanded DuChane, when the two returned from their self-imposed mission. "None o' your business!" McGruder snarled. "The old coot don't seem to get it," complained Link. "All he done was to rant about how they gypped him when they sold him the steel." The pale-featured outlaw girl, Norma, taking a listless turn along the ramp in a robe provided from Maw Barstow's meager store, was an inadvertent listener to this exchange. She seemed inclined to brush by, but suddenly her deep-set eyes glowed with fire. "It's a joke!" she contributed unexpectedly. "You save me from the law, doctor up my carcass—and for what?" "Does seem rather futile," agreed Marlin, sympathetically. He reflected that as her hair grew longer she was becoming a great deal more feminine in appearance. The wound in her neck was by now little more than a scar. <hr class="tb" /> Under his scrutiny, her lips tightened and she abruptly walked away. DuChane's eyes followed until she disappeared behind the curtain which served as a doorway for her sleeping compartment. "Y'know," he volunteered, "there's something about that kid I could almost tumble for." "Cut it out!" was Marlin's sharp response. "What do you mean?" Marlin did not answer. He was, in fact, puzzled to know why he had spoken. "I'll tell you what you mean!" DuChane said heatedly. "You've got your eyes on this dame, same as you've had 'em on Sally. Anything that looks like competition gets your nanny. Well, Marlin, I'm serving notice that where women are concerned I do my own picking. The other man's claim-stakes mean nothing to me." "That's the talk!" approved McGruder. "What the hell! There's enough to go around, not countin' old Eli, and we don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow. I got my eye on that little—" "Shut up!" blazed Marlin. He eyed the ex-detective with burning distaste. He could have reminded them that he was in a position to enforce his edicts, being in possession of the only weapon. They knew this, however, and it was already a source of mounting antagonism. What had caused him to bristle at signs of interest toward the feminine portion of the party? It wasn't that he wanted any of them for himself, though he sensed a challenge in Sally's eyes and acknowledged that she was desirable in her way. Norma, too, gave promise of becoming attractive as she regained her vitality. But his attitude was inspired by something deeper. Perhaps it was an instinctive prescience that man-woman rivalry would inevitably bring trouble. This and a very special feeling that Pearl must be protected in her childlike innocence. The covetous looks with which McGruder regarded her were unmistakable. The very thought of them rankled in Marlin like a sacrilege. Maw Barstow was an efficient watchdog, but the shady detective would stop at nothing he thought he could get away with. From this time, DuChane mockingly defied Marlin's half-expressed edict, by ostentatiously "making a play" for both Sally and Norma. His eyes taunted Marlin to do something about it. And Marlin, knowing that he had no reasonable excuse for interfering, could only chafe inwardly and pretend to have no interest in the matter. The result was that he withdrew more and more into himself, holding aloof from the others, becoming increasingly morose and distant. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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