A few feet away, catastrophe suddenly broke loose. A faulty section of the sidewalk split without warning under his feet and he went pitching forward into the street. He clutched desperately at the trunk of a tall palm tree, but with a loud snap, it broke, throwing him head on into a parked road car. The entire front end of the car collapsed like an egg shell under his weight.
For a long moment, the entire street was dead quiet. With difficulty, Hall pulled himself to his feet. Pale, astonished faces were staring at him from all sides.
Suddenly the farmer started screaming. "That's him. I knew it. That's him." He was jumping up and down with excitement.
Hall turned his back and walked in the other direction. The people in front of him faded away, leaving a clear path.
He had gone a dozen steps when a man with a huge double-barreled shotgun popped out from a store front just ahead. He aimed for the middle of Hall's chest and fired both barrels.
The blast and the shot struck Hall squarely, burning a large hole in his shirt front. He did not change his pace, but continued step by step.
The man with the gun snatched two shells out of his pocket and frantically tried to reload. Hall reached out and closed his hand over the barrel of the gun and the blue steel crumpled like wet paper.
From across the street, someone was shooting at him with a rifle. Several times a bullet smacked warmly against his head or his back.
He continued walking slowly up the street. At its far end several men appeared dragging a small howitzer—probably the only piece in the local armory. They scurried around it, trying to get it aimed and loaded.