arbor's as already lost. First, Laird Martin, with his last
tragic thoughts of a tiny girl on Earth, now orphaned. Then the three
men down the slope, hideous in their bulged and congealing death.
Himself and Darbor next on the list, with not much time to go. All for
a few crystals of--Salt!

* * * * *

The end was as viciously ironic as the means had been brutal, but
greed is an ugly force. It takes no heed of men and their brief,
futile dreams.

Denver shrugged and rejoined his small garrison. The girl, in spite of
the comradeship of shared danger, was as greedy as the others outside.
Instinctively, Denver knew that, and he found the understanding in
himself to pity her.

"Are they still out there?" he asked needlessly.

Darbor nodded. "What did you find?"

He debated telling her the truth. But why add the bitterness to the
little left of her life? Let her dream. She would probably die without
ever finding out that she had thrown herself away following a mirage.
Let her dream and die happy.

"Enough," he answered roughly. "But does it matter?"

Her eyes rewarded his deceit, but the light was too poor for him to
see them. It was easy enough to imagine stars in them, and even a man
without illusions can still dream.

"Maybe it will matter," she replied. "We can hope for a miracle. It
will make all the difference for us if the miracle happens."

Denver laughed. "Then the money will make a difference if we live
through this? You mean you'll stay with me?"

Darbor answered too quickly. "Of course." Then she hesitated, as if
something of his distaste echoed within her. She went on, her voice
strange. "Sure, I'm mercenary. I've been broke in Venusport, and again
here on Luna. It's no fun. Poverty is not all the noble things the
copybooks say. It's undignified and degrading. You want to stop
washing after a while, because it doesn't seem to matter. Yes, I want
money. Am I different from other people?"

Denver laughed harshly. "No. I just thought for a few minutes that you
were. I hoped I was at the head of your list. But let's not quarrel.
We're friends in a jam together. No miracle is going to happen. It's
stupid to fight over a salt mine, empty at that, when we're going to
die. I'm like you; I wanted a miracle to happen, but mine didn't
concern money. We both got what we asked for, that's all. If you bend
over far enough somebody will kick you in the pants. I'm going out,
Darbor