aerialradiation and not one report of upper atmosphere contamination orfallout within a thousand miles.
"Mrs. Thompson, I appeal to your patriotism. Your friends, yourcountry, the free people of the world, need this invention of yours."
Hetty's eyes grew wide and then her features set in a mold of firmdetermination. Shoving back her chair and raising to stand stifflyerect and with chin thrust forward, she was every inch the True PioneerWoman of the West.
"I never thought of that," she said solemnly. "By golly, if my countryneeds this like that, then by golly, my country's going to have it."
The officials leaned forward in anticipation.
"You can have Sally's Cloverdale Marathon III and I don't want one centfor her, either. And you can take the hens, too."
There was a stunned silence and then the Army major strangled on amouthful of coffee; the security man turned beet red in the face andDr. Peterson's jaw bounced off his breastbone. Johnny, unable to holdback an explosion of laughter, dashed for the back porch and collapsed.
* * * * *
The kitchen door slammed and Dr. Peterson stamped out on to the porch,pipe clamped between clenched teeth, his face black with anger andfrustration. He ignored Johnny who was standing beside the rail wipingtears from his eyes. Culpepper recovered himself and walked over to theirate physicist.
"Dr. Peterson you're a man of science," Johnny said, "and a scientistis supposed to be willing to accept a fact and then, possibly determinethe causes behind the fact after he recognizes what he sees. Isn't thatso?"
"Now, look here," Peterson angrily swung around to face Johnny. "I'vetaken all I intend to take from you people with your idiotic story. Idon't intend to...."
Johnny took the older man by the elbow and gently but firmly propelledhim from the porch towards the barn. "I don't intend to either insultyour intelligence, Dr. Peterson, or attempt to explain what hashappened here. But I do intend to show you what we know."
Bright floodlights illuminated the yard and a crew of soldiers werestringing telephone wires from the guarded front gate across the openspace to the ranch house. Beyond the new barbed wire fence, there wasan excited stir and rush for the wire as a sharp-eyed newsman spottedJohnny and the scientist crossing the yard. The two men ignored theshouted requests for more up-to-the-minute information as they walkedinto the barn. Johnny switched on the lights.
The lowing of the two prize Guernseys in the stalls at the right of thedoor changed to loud, plaintive bawling as the lights came on. Bothcows were obviously in pain from their swollen and unmilked udders.
"Seeing is believing. Doc?" Johnny asked, pointing to the cows.
"Seeing what?" Peterson snapped.
"I knew we were going to have some tall explaining to do when youfellows took over here," Johnny said, "and, of course, I don't blameyou one bit. That was some blast Hetty set off out there."
"You don't know," Dr. Peterson murmured fearfully, "you just don'tknow."
"So," Johnny continued, "I deliberately didn't milk these cows, so thatyou could see for yourself that we aren't lying. Now, mind you, I don'thave the foggiest idea WHY this is happening, but I'm going to show youat least, WHAT happened."
He picked up a pair of milk buckets from a rack beside the door andwalked towards the cow stalls, Peterson trailing. "This." Johnny said,pointing to the larger of the two animals, "is Queenie. Her milk isjust about as fine as you can get from a champion milk producing line.And this," he reached over and patted the flank of the other cow, "isSally's Cloverdale Marathon III. She's young and up to now has givengood but not spectacular quantities or qualities of milk. She's fromthe same blood line as Queenie. Sally had dried up from her first calfand we bred her again and on Wednesday she came fresh. Only it isn'tmilk that she's been giving. Watch!"
Kicking a milking stool into position, he placed a bucket underQueenie's distended bag and began squirting the rich, foaming milk intothe pail with a steady, fast and even rhythm. When he had finished, heset the two full buckets with their thick heads of milk foam, outsidethe stall and brought two more clean, empty buckets. He moved to theside of the impatient Sally. As Peterson watched, Johnny filled thebuckets with the same, flat, oily-looking white fluid that Sally hadbeen producing since Wednesday. The scientist began to show mildinterest.
Johnny finished, stripped the cow, and then carried the pails out andset them down beside the first two.
"O.K., now look them over yourself," he told Peterson.
The scientist peered into the buckets. Johnny handed him a ladle.
"Look, Culpepper," Peterson said, "I'm a physicist, not a farmer or anagricultural expert. How do you expect me to know what milk is supposedto do? Until I was fifteen years old, I thought the milk came out ofone of those spigots and the cream out of another."
"Stir it," Johnny ordered. The scientist took the ladle angrily andpoked at the milk in Queenie's buckets.
"Taste it," Johnny said. Peterson glared at the younger man and thentook a careful sip of the milk. Some of the froth clung to his lips andhe licked it off. "Taste like milk to me," he said.
"Smell it," Johnny ordered. Peterson sniffed.
"O.K., now do the same things to the other buckets."
Peterson swished the ladle through the buckets containing Sally's milk.The white liquid swirled sluggishly and oillike. He bent over andsmelled and made a grimace.
"Go on," Johnny demanded, "taste it."
Peterson took a tiny sip, tasted and then spat.
"All right," he said, "I'm now convinced that there's somethingdifferent about this milk. I'm not saying anything is wrong with itbecause I wouldn't know. All I'm admitting is that it is different. Sowhat?"
* * * * *
"Come on," Johnny took the ladle from him. He carried the buckets ofQueenie's milk into the cooler room and dumped them in a smallpasturizer.
Then carrying the two pails of Sally's milk, Johnny and the physicistleft the barn and went to the shattered remains of the tractor shed.
Fumbling under wrecked and overturned tables and workbenches, Johnnyfound an old and rusted pie tin.
Placing the tin in the middle of the open spaces of the yard, he turnedto Peterson. "Now you take that pail of milk and pour a little into thepan. Not much, now, just about enough to cover the bottom or a littlemore." He again handed the ladle to Peterson.
The scientist dipped out a small quantity of the white fluid andcarefully poured it into the pie plate.
"That's enough," Johnny cautioned. "Now let's set these buckets a goodlong ways from here." He picked up the buckets and carried them to theback porch. He vanished into the kitchen.
By this time, the strange antics of the two men had attracted theattention of the clamoring newsmen outside the fence and they jammedagainst the wire, shouting pleas for an interview or information. Thenetwork television camera crews trained their own high-powered lightsinto the yard to add to the brilliance of the military lights and beganrecording the scene. Dr. Peterson glared angrily at the mob and turnedas Johnny rejoined him. "Culpepper, are you trying to make a fool ofme?" he hissed.
"Got a match?" Johnny queried, ignoring the question. The pipe-smokingscientist pulled out a handful of kitchen matches. Johnny produced aglass fish casting rod with a small wad of cloth tied to the weightedhook. Leading Peterson back across the yard about fifty feet, Johnnyhanded the rag to Peterson.
"Smell it," he said. "I put a little kerosene on it so it would burnwhen it goes through the air." Peterson nodded.
"You much of a fisherman?" Johnny asked.
"I can drop a fly on a floating chip at fifty yards," the physicistsaid proudly. Johnny handed him the rod and reel. "O.K., Doc, light upyour rag and then let's see you drop it in that pie plate."
While TV cameras hummed and dozens of still photographers pointedtelescopic lenses and prayed for enough light, Dr. Peterson ignited thelittle wad of cloth. He peered behind to check for ob
structions andthen, with the wrist-flicking motion of the devoted and expertfisherman, made his cast. The tiny torch made a blurred, whippingstreak of light and dropped unerringly into the pie plate in the middleof the yard.
The photographers had all the light they needed!
The night turned violet as a violent ball of purple fire reared andboiled into the darkened sky. The flash bathed the entire ranchheadquarters and the packed cars and throngs outside the fence in thestrange brilliance. The heat struck the dumfounded scientist and youngrancher like the suddenly-opened door of a blast furnace.
It was over in a