"Trick? How can I trick you? Dankor is off limits to Earthmen. You and I will be the only--" The man cocked his head and asked, "You have any Martian friends in Dankor?" Farrell laughed at the thought, "Martian _friends_?" Some of the wariness left the other's face. Everyone knew no Earthman had a Martian friend. The Martians were a fading but proud race. They resented Earthmen and submitted bitterly to their presence. Martians did not associate with Earthmen. To do so would mean loss of social standing and almost always loss of their lives by the hand of some fanatical anti-Earth group. Martians submitted to the invasion of their planet by colonists because they had no choice: they were few in number, a weak, dying race. Inwardly, they hated Earthmen and, given the chance, would rid Mars of all colonists. While his antagonist considered the offer, Farrell's mind whirled rapidly. How could he escape? His body was trapped beneath the man's weight, unable to move. Call for help? He quickly discarded the idea: on one side was a Martian city and on the other was the spaceport. The group of crude stone buildings were inhabited by aliens. Martians might come and watch him die if he called for help but they'd never try to save him. The spaceport was deserted except for the empty, waiting spaceships and the office buildings were too far away for anyone to hear a cry. He could do nothing. "I'll give you a chance," his enemy said as he rose to his feet. "You win five thousand for me and I'll let you keep the thousand and your life." He placed the knife in a sheath and drew a stubby revolver from a pocket. "If you make a wrong move, I'll blast you in half. I don't like to use this thing because it's noisy, but--" He waved the gun and the action seemed to complete the sentence in itself. * * * * * "Let's take a taxi," Farrell suggested as he rose shakily and brushed red sand from his clothes. "No." "It'll take an hour to walk there," Farrell protested mildly. "We'll walk," the man stated. "We'll walk and we'll take the most deserted streets." Farrell led the way through the small Martian city that bordered the spaceport and across a narrow stretch of desert to Dankor canal. At the canal, he turned and followed it northward, walking on the huge, weather-smoothed stones that formed one wall of the large waterway. Thousands of feet below them, muddy water gurgled roaringly as it moved southward to the Martian farmlands. In the clear atmosphere, the opposite wall of the canal ten miles away was a thin, dark line. "What's your name?" Farrell asked suddenly. "Tharp." "Where do you work?" "None of your business." They walked in silence, the two moons casting double shadows from each of their bodies. With a sinking sensation in his stomach, Farrell realized the odds were against his seeing his family again. "How did you learn I had the money?" Farrell asked.