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d the four sides together where nails failed to do an adequate job； and to fasten the bed to the axle； the tires were long rotted away and the cart rode on metal rims。 No skilled carpenter had fitted it together。
The second object to catch his eye was a heaped mound of clay in the adjoining area that had once been a flower garden。 Unusually tall grass and weeds grew everywhere； partially obscuring a view of the station and almost blocking sight of the yellow mound； the grass grew high around the parking lot； and beyond it； and in the open 'spaces surrounding the buildings across the street。 Weeds and grass filled the near distance as far as the eye could see； and he was reminded of the buffalo grass said to have grown here when Illinois was an Indian prairie。 Time had done that…time and neglect。 The station lawns had long gone unattended。
Moving warily； stopping often to scan the area around him； Chaney approached the mound。
When he was yet a distance away he discovered a faint trail running from the edge of the lot； through the garden and toward the mound itself。 The next discovery was equally blunt。 Alongside the path…almost invisible in the high grass…was a water channel； a crude aqueduct made from guttering ripped from some building and twisted into shape to serve this purpose。 Chaney stopped short in surprise and stared at the guttering and the nearby mound； already guessing at what he would find。 He continued the stealthy approach。
He came suddenly into a clearing in the rampant grass and found the artifact： a cistern with a crude wooden lid。 A bucket and a length of rope rested beside it。
Chaney slowly circled the cistern and the clay that had e from the excavation； to stumble over yet another channel made of the same guttering； the second aqueduct ran through the weeds and grass toward the lab building…probably to catch the run…off from the roof。 The clay mound was not fresh。 Struck with an overwhelming curiosity； he knelt down and pried away the lid to find a cistern half filled with water。 The walls of the pit were lined with old brick and rough stone slabs but the water was remarkably clean； and he looked to see why。 Filters made of screenwire torn from a window were fitted over the ends of each gutter to protect the cistern from ining debris and small animals。 The gutters themselves were free of leaves and trash； and an effort had been made to seal the joints with a tarry substance。
Chaney put down the rifle and bent to study the cistern in wonder。 It was already recognizable。
Like the cart； it had not been fashioned by skilled hands。 The shape of the thing…the lines of it…were easily familiar： the sides not quite perpendicular； the mouth not evenly rounded； and the shaft appearing to be larger near the bottom than at the top。 It was odd； amateurish； and sunk without a plumb line…but it was a reasonably faithful copy of a Nabataean cistern and it might be expected to hold water for a century or more。 In this place it was startling。 Chaney replaced the lid and climbed to his feet。
When he turned around he saw the grave。
It shocked him。 The site had been concealed from him until now by the high growth of the garden； but again a faint path led to it from the clearing at the cistern。 The mound above the grave was low； aged； and covered by a short weedy grass； the cross above it was nailed together and coated with fading white paint。 Dim lettering was visible on the crossarm。
Chaney moved in and knelt again to read it。
A ditat Deus K
The gatehouse door had been loosed from its hinges and taken away…perhaps to build the cart。
Chaney peered warily through the opening； alert for danger but dreading the possibility of it； then stepped inside for a closer examination。 The room was bare。 No trace remained of the men who had died there： bone； weapon； scrap of cloth； nothing。 Some of the window glass had been knocked out but other panes were intact； the screenwire had been taken from two of the windows。 An empty place。
He backed out and turned to stare at the gate。
It was shut and padlocked； effectively blocking admittance to all but a determined climber； and an effort had been made to repair the damage done to it。 Chaney noted all that in a single glance and went forward to study the additional stoppers…the added warnings。 Three grisly talismans hung on the outside of the gate facing the road： three skulls； taken from the bodies of the men who'd died in the gatehouse so long ago。 The warning to would…be trespassers was strikingly clear。
Chaney stared at the skulls； knowing the warnings to be as old as time； he knew of similar monitions which had guarded towns in Palestine before the Roman conquest； monitions which had been used as late as the eighteenth century in some of the more remote villages of the Negev。
He saw no one in the area： the entrance and its approaches were deserted； the warning well taken。 Weeds and waist…high grass grew in the ditches and the fields on either side of the road leading to the distant highway but the grass had not been disturbed by the passage of men。 The blacktopped road was empty； the white line down the center long since weathered away and the asphalt surface badly damaged by the years。 An automobile using that road now would be forced to move at a snail's pace。
Chaney photographed the scene and quit the area。
Walking north with an easy stride； he followed the familiar route to the barracks where he'd lived that short while with Saltus and Moresby。 The site was almost passed over because it was covered by a tangle of weeds and grass； no buildings rose above the jungle。
Forcing his way through the tangle…and flushing from its nesting place a quick； furry thing he tardily recognized as a rabbit…Chaney stumbled upon the burnedout base of a building nearly lost in the undergrowth。 He couldn't recognize it as his own barracks； nor point to the location of his small room if it had been the barracks； only the long narrow rectangle of the foundation suggested the kind of dwelling it was。 Chaney peered over the wall。 A narrow band of frost lined the cement blocks at the groundline on the north side； pointing up the chill in the air。 Patches of blue wildflowers grew in the sunlight and…much to his surprise…other patches of wild； red strawberries sprouted everywhere along the sunnier side of the foundation。 He thought to glance at the sky； measuring the progress of the sun and the season； then stared again at the strawberries。 It should be early summer。
Chaney photographed it and went back to the street。 An abandoned place。 He continued north。
E Street was easily identified without the need of the rusted sign standing on a pole at a corner。 He stayed alert； walking cautiously and listening hard for any sound around him。 The station was quiet under the sun。
The recreation area was harshly changed。
Chaney crept silently in the entrance and across the broken concrete patio to the rim of the swimming pool。 He looked down。 A few inches of dirty water covered the bottom…residue from the rains…together with a poor collection of rusted and broken weapons and an appreciable amount of debris blown in by the wind： the pool had bee a dumping ground for trash and armament。 The sodden corpse of some small animal floated in a corner。 A lonely place。 Chaney very carefully put away the memory of the pool as he'd known it and backed away from the edge。 The area now seemed unkempt； ugly； and not a scene to be pared with more pleasant times。
He left quickly； bearing north and west。 The far corner was a mile or more away as he remembered the map of the station； but he thought he could walk the distance in a reasonable time。
Chaney found the motor pool before he'd progressed a half dozen long blocks。 Less than twenty cars littered the great blacktopped lot； but not one was operable： they had been wantonly stripped of parts and many of them were no more than burned…out shells。 The hood of every vehicle was propped open； and the batteries taken； not one of the small motors was left intact to provide him with an idea of the plant。 Chaney poked about the lot because he was curious； and because Arthur Saltus had told him about the little electric cars。 He wished he could drive one。 There were no trucks on the lot nor had he seen one anywhere on the station； although a number of them had been working the post during his training period。 He supposed they had been transferred to Chicago to meet the emergency…or had been stolen when the ramjets overran the statioii
Chaney emerged from the lot and stopped abruptly on the street。 It may have been an illusion brought on by tension； but he thought he glimpsed movement in the high grass across the street。 He slipped the safety on the rifle and walked to the curb。 Nothing was visible in the heavy undergrowth。
There were no holes in the fence at the corner。
The burned and rusted shell of a truck occupied a place that had once been a hole； but now that truck was a part of the repaired fence。 Barbed wire had been strung back and forth across the opening； pulled taut over； under； and through the wreck itself in such fashion that the truck