he would have had
momentum enough to carry himself up the slope down which the man had
begun to descend. But now he shared it. The two of them toppled forward
together. Their arms were upon the flat surface, while their bodies
dangled. The feel of gravity pulling them slantwise and downward was
purest nightmare.
But then, as Joe's innards crawled, the same stocky man who had knocked
the lean man back was dragging frantically at both of them to pull them
to safety.
Then there were two men pulling. The stocky man's face was gray. His
horror was proof that he hadn't intended murder. The man who'd put down
his welding torch pulled. The man who'd been climbing the ladder put his
weight to the task of getting them back to usable footing. They reached
safety. Joe scrambled to his feet, but he felt sick at the pit of his
stomach. The stocky man began to shake horribly. The lanky one advanced
furiously upon him.
"I didn' mean to keel you, Haney!" the dark one panted.
The lanky one snapped: "Okay. You didn't. But come on, now! We finish
this—"
He advanced toward the workman who had so nearly caused his death. But
the other man dropped his arms to his sides.
"I don' fight no more," he said thickly. "Not here. You keel me is okay.
I don' fight."
The lanky man—Haney—growled at him.
"Tonight, then, in Bootstrap. Now get back to work!"
The stocky man picked up his tools. He was trembling.
Haney turned to Joe and said ungraciously: "Much obliged. What's up?"
Joe still felt queasy. There is rarely any high elation after one has
risked his life for somebody else. He'd nearly plunged two hundred feet
to the floor of the Shed with Haney. But he swallowed.
"I'm looking for Chief Bender. You're Haney? Foreman?"
"Gang boss," said Haney. He looked at Joe and then at Sally who was
holding convulsively to the upright Joe had put her hand on. Her eyes
were closed. "Yeah," said Haney. "The Chief took off today. Some kind of
Injun stuff. Funeral, maybe. Want me to tell him something? I'll see him
when I go off shift."
There was an obscure movement somewhere on this part of the Platform. A
tiny figure came out of a crevice that would someday be an air lock. Joe
didn't move his eyes toward it. He said awkwardly: "Just tell him Joe
Kenmore's in town and needs him. He'll remember me, I think. I'll hunt
him up tonight."
"Okay," said Haney.
Joe's eyes went to the tiny figure that had come out from behind the
plating. It was a midget in baggy, stained work garments like the rest
of the men up here. He wore a miniature welding shield pushed back on
his head. Joe could guess his function, of course. There'd be corners a
normal-sized man couldn't get into, to buck a rivet or weld a joint.
There'd be places only a tiny man could properly inspect. The midget
regarded Joe without expression.
Joe turned to the hoist to go down to the floor again. Haney waved his
hand. The midget lifted his, in grave salutation.
The hoist dropped down the shaft. Sally opened her eyes.
"You—saved that man's life, Joe," she said unsteadily. "But you scared
me to death!"
Joe tried to ignore the remark, but he still seemed to feel slanting
metal under him and a drop of two hundred feet below. It had been a
nightmarish sensation.
"I didn't think," he said uncomfortably. "It was a crazy thing to do.
Lucky it worked out."
Sally glanced at him. The hoist still dropped swiftly. Levels of
scaffolding shot upward past them. If Joe had slipped down that rolling
curve of metal, he'd have dropped past all these. It was not good to
think about. He swallowed again. Then the hoist checked in its descent.
It stopped. Joe somewhat absurdly helped Sally off to solid ground.
"It—looks to me," said Sally, "as if you're bound to make me see
somebody killed. Joe, would you mind leading a little bit less
adventurous life for a while? While I'm around?"
He managed to grin. But he still did not feel right.
"Nothing I can do until I can look at the plane," he said, changing
momentum enough to carry himself up the slope down which the man had
begun to descend. But now he shared it. The two of them toppled forward
together. Their arms were upon the flat surface, while their bodies
dangled. The feel of gravity pulling them slantwise and downward was
purest nightmare.
But then, as Joe's innards crawled, the same stocky man who had knocked
the lean man back was dragging frantically at both of them to pull them
to safety.
Then there were two men pulling. The stocky man's face was gray. His
horror was proof that he hadn't intended murder. The man who'd put down
his welding torch pulled. The man who'd been climbing the ladder put his
weight to the task of getting them back to usable footing. They reached
safety. Joe scrambled to his feet, but he felt sick at the pit of his
stomach. The stocky man began to shake horribly. The lanky one advanced
furiously upon him.
"I didn' mean to keel you, Haney!" the dark one panted.
The lanky one snapped: "Okay. You didn't. But come on, now! We finish
this—"
He advanced toward the workman who had so nearly caused his death. But
the other man dropped his arms to his sides.
"I don' fight no more," he said thickly. "Not here. You keel me is okay.
I don' fight."
The lanky man—Haney—growled at him.
"Tonight, then, in Bootstrap. Now get back to work!"
The stocky man picked up his tools. He was trembling.
Haney turned to Joe and said ungraciously: "Much obliged. What's up?"
Joe still felt queasy. There is rarely any high elation after one has
risked his life for somebody else. He'd nearly plunged two hundred feet
to the floor of the Shed with Haney. But he swallowed.
"I'm looking for Chief Bender. You're Haney? Foreman?"
"Gang boss," said Haney. He looked at Joe and then at Sally who was
holding convulsively to the upright Joe had put her hand on. Her eyes
were closed. "Yeah," said Haney. "The Chief took off today. Some kind of
Injun stuff. Funeral, maybe. Want me to tell him something? I'll see him
when I go off shift."
There was an obscure movement somewhere on this part of the Platform. A
tiny figure came out of a crevice that would someday be an air lock. Joe
didn't move his eyes toward it. He said awkwardly: "Just tell him Joe
Kenmore's in town and needs him. He'll remember me, I think. I'll hunt
him up tonight."
"Okay," said Haney.
Joe's eyes went to the tiny figure that had come out from behind the
plating. It was a midget in baggy, stained work garments like the rest
of the men up here. He wore a miniature welding shield pushed back on
his head. Joe could guess his function, of course. There'd be corners a
normal-sized man couldn't get into, to buck a rivet or weld a joint.
There'd be places only a tiny man could properly inspect. The midget
regarded Joe without expression.
Joe turned to the hoist to go down to the floor again. Haney waved his
hand. The midget lifted his, in grave salutation.
The hoist dropped down the shaft. Sally opened her eyes.
"You—saved that man's life, Joe," she said unsteadily. "But you scared
me to death!"
Joe tried to ignore the remark, but he still seemed to feel slanting
metal under him and a drop of two hundred feet below. It had been a
nightmarish sensation.
"I didn't think," he said uncomfortably. "It was a crazy thing to do.
Lucky it worked out."
Sally glanced at him. The hoist still dropped swiftly. Levels of
scaffolding shot upward past them. If Joe had slipped down that rolling
curve of metal, he'd have dropped past all these. It was not good to
think about. He swallowed again. Then the hoist checked in its descent.
It stopped. Joe somewhat absurdly helped Sally off to solid ground.
"It—looks to me," said Sally, "as if you're bound to make me see
somebody killed. Joe, would you mind leading a little bit less
adventurous life for a while? While I'm around?"
He managed to grin. But he still did not feel right.
"Nothing I can do until I can look at the plane," he said, changing
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