s just Charley. But don't excite
him or you'll regret it."

From the darkness came a confused burble of sounds as Charley explored
and bestowed his affections upon a new friend still too startled to
appreciate the gesture. Darbor tried vainly to fend off the lavish
demonstrations.

Denver gunned the space sled viciously, and felt the push of
acceleration against his body. He headed for a distant mountain range.

"Just Charley, my pet moondog," he explained.

"What in Luna is that?"

"You'll find out. He loves everybody. Me, I'm more discriminating, but
I can be had. My father warned me about women like you."

"How would he know?" Darbor asked bitterly. "What did he say about
women like me?"

"It's exciting while it lasts, and it lasts as long as your money
holds out. It's wonderful if you can afford it. But Charley's
harmless. He's like me, he just wants to be loved. Go on. Pet him."

"All males are alike," Darbor grumbled. Obediently, she ran fingers
over the soft, wirelike pseudo-fur. The fingers tingled as if weak
charges of electricity surged through them.

"Does it--er, Charley ever blow a fuse?" she asked. "I'd like to have
met your father. He sounds like a man who had a lot of experience with
women. The wrong women. By the way, where are we going?"

* * * * *

Tod Denver had debated the point with himself. "To the scene of the
crime," he said. "It's not good, and they may look for us there. But
we can hole up for a few days till the hunt dies down. It might be the
last place Big Ed would expect to find us. Later, unless we find
something in the Martian workings, we'll head for the far places.
Okay?"

Darbor shrugged. "I suppose. But then what. I don't imagine you'll be
a chivalrous jackass and want to marry me?"

The space sled drew a thin line of silver fire through darkness as he
debated that point.

"Now that I'm sober, I'll think about it. Give me time. They say a man
can get used to to anything."

A ghostly choking sounded from the seat beside him. He wondered if
Charley had blown something.

"Do they say what girls have to get used to?" she asked, her voice
oddly tangled.

Tod Denver tempered the wind to the shorn lamb. "We'll see how the
workings pan out. I'd want my money to last."

What Darbor replied should be written on asbestos.

* * * * *

Their idyl at the mines lasted exactly twenty-seven hours. Denver
showed