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"You know, Monty, I get nightmares, sometimes, thinking about what things must be like in Europe," Loudons said. Five or six wild cows went crashing through the brush below. Altamont nodded when he saw them. "Maybe tomorrow, we'll let down and shoot a cow," he said. "I was looking in the freeze-locker and the fresh meat's getting a little low. Or a wild pig, if we find a good stand of oak trees.
"The two smoked pork chops left over from yesterday evening," Loudons said, "and that bowl of rice that's been taking up space in the refrigerator the last couple of days, together with a little egg powder and some milk. I ground the chops up and mixed them with the rice and other stuff. Then added some bacon, to make grease to fry it in." Altamont chuckled.
They had seen the helicopter circling about, and had heard the blasting: everyone in the area had been drawn to the scene as soon as Loudons had gone down the river. But they seemed to have forgotten that aircraft carried guns, although they did spring to their feet and start to run at the return of the helicopter. However, most of them did not run far.
His employer, a white man, who had the contract for carrying the mails, had also gone into another business which involved letter-carrying. A few miles back from the village of Akeville, where the Loudons lived, was a mica mine, which had recently been bought, and was now worked by a company from the North.
"Some of our people, Alex Barrett here, the gunsmith, and Stan Markovitch, the distiller, and Harrison Grant, the iron-worker get their living by making things. How'd they make out, after your machines came in here?" Verner Hughes asked. "We've thought of that. We had that problem with other groups we've helped," Loudons said.
"Jim, this is really something!" "I hope they don't cut loose with that thing," Loudons said, looking apprehensively at the brass-rimmed black muzzle that was covering them from the belfry. "I wonder if we ought to Oh-oh, here they come!" Three or four young men stepped out of the wide door of the old church.
"You are a doctor?" the white-haired man asked. "Of sorts. A sort of general scientist. My name is Loudons. My friend, Mr. Altamont, here, is a scientist, too." There was an immediate reaction: all three of the elders of the village, and the young riflemen who had accompanied them, exchanged glances of surprise.
We'll have to organize an expedition to Brazil, sometime, to get seeds and try raising some." Loudons blew a smoke ring toward the rear of the cabin. "A much overrated beverage," he replied. "We found some, once, when I was on that expedition into Idaho, in what must have been the stockroom of a hotel. Vacuum-packed in moisture-proof containers, and free from radioactivity.
You know how few in all the countries were left alive," Loudons said. "None that we know of, beside ourselves and the Scowrers, until you came," the Toon Leader said. "We have found only a few small groups, in the whole country, who have managed to save anything of the Old Times. Most of them lived in little villages and cultivated land. A few had horses or cows.
He had a pistol on his belt. The pistol had the saw-handle grip of an automatic, but it was a flintlock, as were the rifles of the young men who stood so watchfully on either side of the door. Two middle-aged men accompanied the bearded man and the trio advanced toward the helicopter. "All right, come on, Monty." Loudons opened the door and let down the steps.
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