a little
guy with a Kelly."

He looked at me a bit more friendly. "Maybe I'm wrong about you,
friend. But you look shifty."

"I'll admit my face isn't my fortune," I said sticking out what little
chin I had and looking indignant. "But I'm honest. Ask anyone here." I
looked around. There were three men in the place I didn't have
something on, and I was faster than they. I was a fair hand with a
Kelly in those days and I had a reputation. There was a chorus of nods
and the big fellow looked satisfied. He stuck out a hamsized hand.

"Me name's Redman," he said. "Noble Redman. My father had a sense of
humor." He grinned at me, giving me a good view of his pink teeth.

I grinned back. "Glad to know you," I replied. I gave the sharpies a
hard look and they moved off and left us alone. The big fellow
interested me. Fact is--anyone with money interested me--but I'm not
stupid greedy. It took me about three minutes to spot him for a phony.
Anyone who's lived out in the Drylands knows that there just _isn't_
any gold there. Iron, sure, the whole desert's filthy with it, but if
there is anything higher on the periodic table than the rare earths,
nobody had found it yet--and this guy with his light clothes, street
boots and low capacity respirator--Hell! he couldn't stay out there
more than two days if he wanted to--and besides, the gold was refined.
The lumps looked like they were cut off something bigger--a bar, for
instance.

* * * * *

A bar!--a bar of gold! My brain started working. K'nar was about two
days out, and there had always been rumors about Martian gold even
though no one ever found any. Maybe this tourist had come through. If
so, he was worth cultivating. For he was a tourist. He certainly
wasn't a citizen. There wasn't a Martian alive with a skin like his.
Redman--the name fitted all right. But what was his game? I couldn't
figure it. And the more I tried the less I succeeded. It was a
certainty he was no prospector despite his burned skin. His hands gave
him away. They were big and dirty, but the pink nails were smooth and
the red palms soft and uncalloused. There wasn't even a blister on
them. He could have been fresh from the Mercury Penal Colony--but
those guys were burned black--not red, and he didn't have the hangdog
look of an ex-con.

He talked about prospecting on Callisto--looking for heavy metals. Ha!
There were fewer heavy metals on Callisto than there were on Mar