Riddell shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe they think they're going to start a new Roman Empire here in America."
"Do you think we can stop them? We're not too heavy on guns."
"We're not going to go to war, Ken. We're not going to fire a shot."
"What do you mean?"
"I've seen enough war, and I've killed enough men. We'll handle this the sane way. The way I'm trying to teach our youngsters to live."
Naylor stared blankly at him. "But—"
The phone rang. Riddell picked it up—listened—then said, "We'll have a man right over, Charlie." He hung up.
"Who was that?"
"Charlie Drew. On the farm about a mile out of town on the road to Northburg. I sent a couple of boys into Northburg last night, just to feel around and see how things looked. One of the boys was Len Colter, the one you just saw. The other was Ben Kingston. Couple of minutes ago, Kingston's body got dumped on Charlie Drew's farm. There was a note pinned to it. 'We don't like spies.'"
Naylor's face tightened. "And you say we won't fight?"