The boy ran.
Perhaps ten minutes later a boat floated down the serene surface of the canal, a tall lanky man with black hair poling it along with leisurely drives of his arms. "Evening, Brother LaFarge," he said, pausing at his task.
"Evening, Saul, what‘s the word?"
"All kinds of words tonight. You know that fellow named Nomland who lives down the canal in the tin hut?" LaFarge stiffened. "Yes?"
"You know what sort of rascal he was?"
"Rumour has it he left Earth because he killed a man?"
Saul leaned on his wet pole, gazing at LaFarge. "Remember the name of the man he killed?"
"Right. Gillings. Well, about two hours ago Mr. Nomland came running to town crying about how he had seen Gillings, alive, here on Mars, today, this afternoon! He tried to get the jail to lock him up safe. The jail wouldn‘t. So Nomland went home, and twenty minutes ago, as I get the story, blew his brains out with a gun. I just came from there."
"Well, well,"said LaFarge.
"The darnedest things happen," said Saul. "Well, good night, LaFarge."
"Good night."
The boat drifted on down the serene canal waters.
"Supper‘s hot," called the old woman.
Mr. LaFarge sat down to his supper and, knife in hand, looked over at Tom. "Tom," he said, "What did you do this afternoon?"
"Nothing," said Tom, his mouth full. "Why?"
"Just wanted to know." The old man tucked his napkin in.
At seven that night the old woman wanted to go to town. "Haven‘t been there in months," she said. But Tom desisted. "I’m afraid of the town," he said. "The people. I don‘t want to go there."