"but
lizards!"

Harding laughed. "Their riches are as good as anybody else's. The
trouble with you, Sheckly, you're too chicken-hearted. If it weren't for
me, you'd still be small-timing back on Earth. It takes imagination to
get along these days."

Sheckly grunted, for he had no ready answer to deny this truth. While he
didn't like the reference to his inability to get along in the world
without Harding's help, the man was right about other things. It did
take imagination, all right, mixed with a generous supply of plain
ordinary guts; that, plus an eye focused unfalteringly on the good old
credit sign.

He certainly could not get along without Harding's timing. The man knew
just when Patrol Ships would be at certain spots, knew their schedules
for visiting these small otherworlds, and always he was several steps
ahead of them. They went into a planet, their rocket ship loaded with
gambling devices--cards, dice, roulette wheels, and other cultural
refinements--and set up shop which could be folded at a moment's notice
if necessary. Natives seemed almost eager to be skinned of their riches,
and he and Harding happily obliged them.

"Listen to them out there," Harding marveled, leaning forward to hear
the sharp scrapings that represented music. "They must be having some
kind of ceremony."

Sheckly nodded, shivering slightly, though the air was hot and humid. He
wished again, as he often had in the past, he could have some of
Harding's assurance, some of that unrelenting optimism that insisted
everything would turn out favorably. But he didn't like these strange
primitive worlds, he didn't trust them or their inhabitants. The
lizard-people had seemed friendly enough, but by looking at a strange
reptile you couldn't tell how far it would jump. When the Earth ship
landed, the creatures had come slithering to them with all but a brass
band, welcoming the Earthlings with the hissings that composed their
language. One of them--the official interpreter, he proclaimed
himself--knew a peculiarly good brand of English, and welcomed them in a
more satisfactory manner, but still Sheckly didn't like it. Harding had
called him chicken-hearted, and he felt a certain amount of justified
indignance at the description. Cautious would be a better word, he
decided.

* * * * *

These people appeared friendly to the Earthlings, but so did the
Earthlings give the appearance of friendliness to the native