t,

I'll get on to hell

If my gear don't bust..."

"Hey!" Nelsen gurgled thickly into his phone. "Hey..." Then it was as if
he sort of sank...

Hell was real, all right, because, with needles in his eyes and all
through his body, Nelsen seemed to be goaded on by imps to crawl, in
infinite weariness, through a hot steel pipe, to face Old Nick
himself--or was it somebody he'd met before?

Maybe he asked, because he got an answer--from the grinning, freckled
face bending over him, as he lay, armorless, on a sort of pallet, under
the taut stellene roof of a Moontent.

"Sure Frankie--me, Gimp Hines, the itinerant trader and repairman of the
lunar wilderness... What a switch--didn't think _you'd_ goof! The
Bunch--especially Two-and-Two--couldn't contact you. So I was sort of
looking, knowing about where you'd be. Just made it in time. Les and the
girl, and that ornery professor-or-whatever, are right here, too--still
knocked out with a devil-killer. You've been out twenty hours, yourself.
I'll fill you in on the news. Just shut up and drink up. Good Earth
whiskey--a hundred bucks just to shoot a fifth into orbit."

Frank gulped and coughed. "Thanks, Gimp." His voice was like pumice.

"Shut up, I said!" Gimp ordered arrogantly. "About me--first. When I got
to Serene, I could have convinced them I was worth a job. But I'm
independent. I hocked my gear, bought some old parts, built myself a
tractor and trailer, loaded it with water, oxygen, frozen vegetables,
spare parts, cigarettes, pin-up pictures, liquor and so forth, and came
travelling. I didn't forget tools. You'd be astonished by what you can
sell and fix--and for what prices--out in the isolated areas, or what
you can bring back. I even got a couple of emeralds as big as pigeon
eggs. I'm getting myself a reputation, besides. What difference does
just one good leg make--at only one-sixth Earth grav? You still hop
along, even when you don't ride. And everywhere I go, I leave that left
boot print behind in the dust, like a record that could last a thousand
ages. I'm getting to be Left Foot, the legend."

Nelsen cleared his throat, found his voice. "Cocky, aren't you, Pal?" he
chuckled. So another thing was happening in reverse from what most
people had expected. Gimp Hines was finding a new, surer self, off the
Earth.

"It's all right, Gimp," Nelsen added. "I figured that I saw your tracks
and your tractor tread marks, up in the hills, just before I decided to