alive, yet never foolishly wasteful either of himself or his
meager substance. "Mac" first rose to fame in the census
department by appearing one afternoon at Empire police station
dragging a "bush" native by the scruff of the neck with one hand,
and carrying in the other the machete with which the bushman had
tried to prove he was a Colombian and not subject to questioning
by the agents of other powers.

Renson--well, Renson was in some ways "Mac's" exact antithesis and
in some his twin brother. He was one of those youths who believe
in spending prodigally and in all possible haste what little
nature has given them. Wherefore, though he was younger than "Mac"
appeared to be, he already looked older than "Mac" was. In Zone
parlance "he had already laid a good share of the road to Hell
behind him." Yet such a cheery, likable chap was Renson, so large-
hearted and unassuming--that was just why you felt an itching to
seize him by the collar of his olive-drab shirt and shake him till
his teeth rattled for tossing himself so wantonly to the infernal
bow-wows.

Renson's "bush" troubles were legion. Not only were there the
seducing brown "Spigoty" women out in the wilderness to help him
on his descending trail, but when and wherever fire-water of
whatever nationality or degree of voltage showed its neck--and it
is to be found even in "the bush"--there was Renson sure to give
battle--and fall. "It's no use bein' a man unless you're a hell of
a man," was Renson's "influenced" philosophy. How different this
was from his native good sense when the influence was turned off
was demonstrated when he returned from cautiously reconnoitering a
cottage far back in the wilds one dark night and reported as his