"You have what?" roared Garrison, jerking upright in his chair.

"I can't be sure," said Norton. "Something big came down out of the sky. Landed straddle of the river. Smashed the bridge to hell."

"Is it still there?"

"Still there," said Norton. "Just sitting where it landed, only ten minutes or so ago. It's huge. Big and black. The town is going wild. The place is in an uproar. One man was killed."

"Killed. How was he killed?"

"He shot at the thing. It shot back. Burned him to a cinder. I saw it happen. I saw him standing there and smoking."

"Oh, my God," said Garrison. "What a story, right on top of you.

"Johnny," said Norton, "I can't be certain of what is going on. It happened too short a time ago to know what's going on. I thought you might want to send someone up to get some pictures."

"Hold on, Frank," said Garrison. "I tell you what I'm going to do. I'll get right on it. But first, I want to turn you over to someone here on the desk. You tell him what happened. Tell him everything. When you get through, don't hang up. I'll get hold of a photographer and do some other things."

"Fine, I'll hang on.

Garrison cupped the receiver with his hand, held it out to Gold.

"Frank Norton is on the other end," he said. "He's owner and editor of a weekly paper at Lone Pine. An old friend of mine. We went to school together. He says something fell out of the sky up there. One man's been killed. Fell just fifteen minutes or so ago. You get down what he has to tell you and then ask him to hold for me. I want to talk with him again."

"I'll get it here," said Gold. He picked up his phone. "Mr. Norton," he said, "I'm Jim Gold. I'm assistant city editor

Garrison swung around in his chair, spoke to Annie Dutton, city desk secretary.

"Annie," he said, "get a hold of the plane charter people. See if they can have a plane standing by for us. To fly to—what the hell town with an airstrip is closest to Lone Pine?"