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refined and redesigned and tinkered here and there, had become a contraption that bore but small resemblance to the model of the manual. The two of us, working together, knew every piece by heart. We could have field-stripped Bronco and put him back together in the dark. There was no waste motion and no need of conference or direction. Elmer and I worked together like two machines. Inside of an hour we had Bronco put together.
    Assembled, he was a crazy thing to look at. He had eight jointed legs that had an insect look about them. Each of them could be positioned at almost any angle. There were claws he could unsheathe to get a better grip. He could go anywhere, on any kind of ground. He could damn near climb a wall. His barrel-like body, equipped with a saddle, afforded good protection to the delicate instruments that it contained. It carried a series of rings that allowed the strapping of loads upon his back. He had a retractable tail that was made up of a hundred different sensors and his head I was crowned with another weird sensor assembly.
    “I feel good,” he said. “Are we leaving now?” Cynthia had unloaded the supplies from the car. “Camping stuff,” she said. “Concentrated food, blankets, rain gear, stuff like that. Nothing fancy. I didn’t have the money to buy fancy stuff.”
    Elmer began heaving the boxes and crates on Bronco’s back, cinching them in place.
    “You think you can ride him?” I asked Cynthia. 
    “Sure I can. But what about yourself?”
    “He’s riding me,” said Elmer.
    “No, I’m not,” I said.
    “Be sensible,” said Elmer. “We may have to run for it to get out of here. They may be laying for us.”
    Cynthia went to the door and looked out. “There’s no one in sight,” she said.
    “How do we get out of here?” asked Elmer. “The quickest way out of the Cemetery.”
    “You take the road west,” she told him. “Past the administration building. Twenty-five miles or so and the Cemetery ends.”
    Elmer finished packing the supplies on Bronco. He took a final look around. “I guess that’s all,” he said. “Now, miss, up on Bronco.”
    He helped her up. “Hang on tight,” he cautioned her. “Bronco’s not the smoothest thing to ride on.”
    “I’ll hang on,” she said. She looked scared.
    “Now you,” Elmer said to me. I started to protest, but didn’t because I knew it would do no good. And, besides, riding Elmer made a lot of sense. If we should have to run for it, he could go ten times faster than I could. Those long metal legs of his could really eat up ground.
    He lifted me and put me on his shoulders, straddle of his neck. “You hang onto my head to balance yourself,” he said. “I’ll hold onto your legs. I’ll see you don’t fall off.”
    I nodded, not too happy. It was damned undignified.
    We didn’t have to run for it. There was no one around except one plodding figure far to the north walking down an aisle between the stones. There must have been people watching us; I could almost feel their eyes. We must have made a strange sight—Cynthia riding that grasshopper of a Bronco, with bales and boxes tied all over him, and myself up there, jiggling and swaying atop the eight-foot Elmer.
    We didn’t run or even hurry, but we made good time. Bronco and Elmer were good travelers. Even at their normal walking pace, a man would have had to run to keep up with them.
    We went clattering and lurching up the road, past the administration building and out into the main part of the Cemetery. The road was empty and the land was peaceful. Occasionally, far off, I would sight a little village, nestled in a cove—a slender finger of a steeple pointing at the sky and a blur of color that was the rooftops of the houses. I imagined those little villages were the homes of workers employed by the Cemetery.
    As I rode along, bouncing and swaying to Elmer’s swinging strides, I saw that the Cemetery, for all its vaunted beauty, was in reality a dismal,