need them, come on up. But remember, the men who carry the shockers will
be in front; and their business will be simply to down the horses--any
killing that's to be done will be left to those of you who have knives,
or anything lethal."

There was a rising wave of voices from the crowd. Some men came forward
for weapons; Rynason saw others drawing knives and hatchets, and a few
of them had heavy guns, projectile type. Rynason watched with narrowed
eyes; it had been a filthy maneuver on Manning's part to organize this
mob, and his open acceptance of their temper was dangerous. Once they
were turned loose, what could stop them?

There was a sudden shouting in the back of the mob; men surged and fell
away, cursing. Rynason heard scuffing back there, and sounds of bone
meeting flesh. The men at the front of the mob turned to look back, and
some tried to shove their way through to the fight.

A scream came from the midst of the crowd, and was answered by an
excited, angry swelling of voices around the fighting men. Suddenly
Manning was among them, smashing his way through with a stunner in his
hand, swinging it like a club.

"Get the hell out of the way!" he shouted, stepping quickly through the
men. They grumbled and fell back to let him by, but Rynason heard the
men still fighting in the rear, and then he saw them. There were three
of them, two men and what looked like a boy still in his teens. The boy
had red hair and a dark, ruddy complexion: he was new to the outworlds.
The two older men had the pallor of the Edge drifters, nurtured in the
artificial light of spacers and sealed survival quarters on the less
hospitable worlds.