Марсианские хроники

           "Who’sdownthere?"

           "Hurry,boy!"

           Morelights,morevoices."Stop,Ihaveagun!Vinny,areyouallright?"Arunningoffeet.

           Togethertheoldmanandtheboyranacrossthegarden.

           Ashotsounded.Thebulletstruckthewallastheyslammedthegate.

           "Tom,youthatway;I’llgohereandleadthemoff!Runtothecanal;I’llmeetyouthereintenminutes,boy!"

           Theyparted.

           Themoonhidbehindacloud.Theoldmanranindarkness.

           "Anna,I’mhere!"

           Theoldwomanhelpedhim,trembling,intotheboat."Where’sTom?"

           "He’llbehereinaminute,"pantedLaFarge.

           Theyturnedtowatchthealleysandthesleepingtown.Latestrollerswerestillout:apoliceman,anightwatchman,arocketpilot,severallonelymencominghomefromsomenocturnalrendezvous,fourmenandwomenissuingfromabar,laughing.Musicplayeddimlysomewhere.

           "Whydoesn’thecome?"askedtheoldwoman.

           "He’llcome,he’llcome."ButLaFargewasnotcertain.Supposetheboyhadbeencaughtagain,somehow,someway,inhistraveldowntothelanding,runningthroughthemidnightstreetsbetweenthedarkhouses.Itwasalongrun,evenforayoungboy.Butheshouldhavereachedherefirst.

           Andnow,faraway,alongthemoonlitavenue,afigureran.

           LaFargecriedoutandthensilencedhimself,foralsofarawaywasanothersoundofvoicesandrunningfeet.Lightsblazedoninwindowafterwindow.Acrosstheopenplazaleadingtothelanding,theonefigureran.