Rolltown

VII

As Bat Hardin walked back to his own home, with the intention of getting a little sleep before relieving Al Castro, he muttered, “No. And you don’t see me on the executive committee either.”

It came to him that high intelligence wasn’t the only requirement to get to the top in this each-man-for-himself-and-the-devil-take-the-hindmost world. You had to have the push and aggression of a Dean Armanruder. A lazy genius isn’t one. When Armanruder had first come to the mobile art colony, he had begun operating, volunteering his services, taking over responsibilities. Most of the town’s members did a minimum of participating in its required community work. Oh, there were few complete shirkers but the average citizen was too taken up with his art work, his family, the maintenance of his mobile home, to find time for lengthy committee meetings, the handling of accounts, the making of decisions involving the community.

Within a month, Dean Armanruder had been elected to the executive committee and within two months was dominating it. Not that Bat Hardin was complaining. The other was efficient, intelligent, farseeing. It was seldom that he took a stand with which Bat disagreed. Had New Woodstock been under a town manager, as was the case with many of the larger mobile towns and cities, Bat’s vote would have gone for Dean Armanruder.

He relieved Al Castro at ten o’clock and patrolled the town with Luke Robertson, a tall, lanky, slow-moving fellow who did sculpturing in iron and who seemed to have an inordinate affection for Bat Hardin, as did his wife, for that matter. Bat wasn’t quite sure why. But when somebody likes you, for whatever reason, you have a tendency to like him in return. In actuality, Bat had to admit that he didn’t appreciate Luke’s work, in fact, it was exactly the sort of abstract, meaningless#longdash#to Bat Hardin#longdash#sort of thing that he actively disliked. Bat’s tastes went to the representational art forms, even free verse left him with a taste in his mouth. Of course, he had never mentioned that to Luke Robertson.

Al Castro and young Tom Benton had reported their four-hour watch uneventful. They had immediately#longdash#Al yawning mightily#longdash#taken off for their respective homes as soon as their relief had taken over.

The hours between ten and two were equally free of any signs of disgruntled locals. In fact, Bat was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t made a fool of himself by taking these precautions.

Al and Tom relieved him and Luke again at two, and having copied Al’s contagious yawn, Bat made his way back to his trailer. In the living room, he scowled momentarily at his bar. But no, the hell with it. Tomorrow was going to be one long day and he couldn’t afford to be even a bit woozy.

He turned out the light and began unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way back to the bedroom.