The big man dropped a large coin into a slot. He gave the silver handle a vicious snap. It made a discordant, bone-crushing sound. Three little wheels, visible under glass, spun dizzily. Anxious, screwed-up faces looked on as the first little wheel stopped. _Bell Fruit._ A collective gasp came from the small crowd. The second little wheel stopped. _Bell Fruit._ Another gasp. Sartan touched the arm of the man operating the gambling device. "I beg your pardon, but could you please tell me--" The big man wheeled around like a bear aroused from hibernation. "Hands off, mister! You trying to jinx me?" The third little wheel stopped. _Lemon._ The crowd groaned. The big man turned on Sartan again, a wild and furious look in his eye. "You jinxed me! Damn you, I oughta' bust you one right in the snout!!" "My humble apol-o-gies, sir," the bewildered Sartan began. "I'll give you your humble apologies right back with my fist," roared the gambler. Toryl quickly made his way through the small crowd which by now was itching to witness a fight. "Ex-cuse me, sir, but my friend did not real-ize--" "The hell he didn't!" The gambler fumed. "He was trying to jinx me, by God! And I'm gonna teach him to keep his paws--" "Okay, okay, you guys, break it up!!" It was Okie, massive and mean looking, using his barrel belly to push his way through to the two aliens and the unlucky gambler. "What's goin' on here, Smokey?" he inquired of the gambler. "Okie, I had a jackpot workin' when this dumb jerk here ups and grabs my arm--" Toryl interrupted with, "My friend is sorry for what he did, sir." Okie stabbed a cigar into his mouth. "Who _are_ you guys anyhow? Where'd you dig up them crazy coveralls?" "Sure a queer way to dress in this heat," spoke a voice from the crowd. This was the moment of pride that Toryl and Sartan had looked forward to. They both grinned confident grins. "We have come to you from Capella," he said with some exultation. Okie's face went blank. "Capella! Where the hell is that?" "Sounds like one of them damn hick towns in California," said Smokey, the gambler. Toryl, somewhat deflated, but by no means defeated, hastened to elucidate. "Capella is lo-cat-ed in the con-stell-a-tion which you call Auriga." "Anybody know what the hell he's talking about?" asked the annoyed saloonkeeper. Toryl and Sartan exchanged troubled glances. Sartan took up the cudgel. "Auriga is a constellation, a star cluster, sir. It is forty-two million light years away." "What in tarnation is a light year?" asked an old-timer in the group. Another replied, "They must be from Alaska. They got light years up there, sometimes stays light the whole confounded year 'round." "That must be it," agreed Okie, "and that's why they're wearin' them crazy suits." The saloonkeeper unloosed a grim laugh. "You can take them arctic pajamas off now, boys. Weather's kinda warm in these parts!" "Hey, fellas!" a voice shot out, "didya bring any Eskimo babes down with you?"