cal well-being. Setting his shoulders firmly against the wall,
he waited.

The man slowed to a walk when he saw his intended victim on guard.
Johnson had the chance to observe him closely. He was a short and dark
man, heavy of bone, with the lower half of his face thickly bearded,
and sweat making a thin glistening film on his high cheekbones.

Abruptly a voice said, "I wouldn't touch him if I were you."

Johnson followed the gaze of his near-attacker to his left where the
lean man he had noted before stood with a flat blue pistol pointed in
their direction. He held the pistol like a man who knew how to use it.

"A gun!" the man in the street gasped. "Are you crazy?"

"Better put it away--fast," Johnson warned his ally. "If the native
police catch you with that gun, you're in bad trouble."

The lean man hesitated a moment, then shrugged and pocketed the gun.
But he kept his hand in the pocket. "I can still use it," he said, to
no one in particular.

[Illustration]

"Look, chum," the bearded thug grated. "You're evidently a stranger
here. Let me give you a tip. If you get caught using a gun, or even
having one on you, the police'll slap you in jail with an automatic
sentence of ten years. An Earthman couldn't stay alive in one of
their so-called jails for a year.

"Now I've got a little business to attend to with Mr. Johnson, and I
don't want any interference. So be smart and run along."

The smile never left the stranger's face. "Right now," he said, "I am
interested in seeing that Mr. Johnson remains in good health. If you
take another step toward him, I'll shoot. And, if I'm not successful
in evading the police afterwards, you won't be alive to know it."

"You're bluffing," the bearded man said. "I...."

"Let me point out something," Johnson interrupted. "Suppose he is
bluffing and doesn't use the gun: The odds are still two to one
against you. Are you sure you could handle both of us--even with the
help of that pipe?"

The man wasn't sure. He stood undecided, then his face showed black
frustration. He mouthed a few choice phrases through his beard, turned
and walked away.

* * * * *

The lean man extended his hand. "My name's Alton Hawkes."

The rising whine of the next "sand-blaster" drowned out Johnson's
answer. He drew his new acquaintance into the shelter of a sand-arm.

As they hugged the corner, they felt a third body press against them.
The musky odor, mingle