Марсианские хроники

           "You’renotmadatme?"

           Themaskwasrigidandcarvedandcoldandsightless.

           "Prepareyourplaceoffood,"saidthevoicesoftly."Andtakethis."

           "Whatisit?"

           Samblinkedatthesilver-foilscrollthatwashandedhim,uponwhich,inhieroglyph,snakefiguresdanced.

           "Itisthelandgranttoalloftheterritoryfromthesilvermountainstothebluehills,fromthedeadsaltseatheretothedistantvalleysofmoonstoneandemerald,"saidtheLeader.

           "M-mine?"saidSam,incredulous.

           "Yours."

           "Onehundredthousandmilesofterritory?"

           "Yours."

           "Didyouhearthat,Elma?"

           Elmawassittingontheground,leaningagainstthealuminumhot-dogstand,eyesshut.

           "Butwhy,why—whyareyougivingmeallthis?"askedSam,tryingtolookintothemetalslotsoftheeyes.

           "Thatisnotall.Here."Sixotherscrollswereproduced.Thenamesweredeclared,theterritoriesannounced.

           "Why,that’shalfofMars!IownhalfofMars!"Samrattledthescrollsinhisfists.HeshookthematElma,insanewithlaughing."Elma,didyouhear?"

           "Iheard,"saidElma,lookingatthesky.

           Sheseemedtobewatchingforsomething.Shewasbecomingalittlemorealertnow.

           "Thankyou,oh,thankyou,"saidSamtothebronzemask.

           "Tonightisthenight,"saidthemask."Youmustbeready."

           "Iwillbe.