Stiffy settled more solidly in his chair. "The Lost Mine story," he declared, "has been going around for years. Seems a couple of fellows found it a few years after the first dome was built. They came in and told about it, stocked up with grub and went out. They never did come back." He leaned across the table. "You know what I think?" he demanded gustily. "No," said Meek. "What do you think?" "The Prowler got 'em," Stiffy said, triumphantly. "But how could there be a lost mine?" asked Meek. "Asteroid City was one of the first mining domes built out here. There was no prospecting done until about that time." Stiffy shook his head, waggling his beard. "How should I know," he defended himself. "Maybe some early space traveler set down here, dug a mine, never got back to Earth to tell about it." "But Juno is only one hundred and eighteen miles in diameter," Meek argued. "If there had been a mine someone would have found it." Stiffy snorted. "That's all you know about it, stranger. Only one hundred and eighteen miles, sure ... but one hundred and eighteen miles of the worst danged country man ever set a boot on. Mostly up and down." The drinks came, the bartender slapping them down on the table before them. Meek gasped first at their price, then choked on the drink itself. But he smothered the choke manfully and asked: "What kind of stuff is this?" "_Bocca_," replied Stiffy. "Good old Martian _bocca_. Puts hair on your chest." He gulped his drink with gusto, blew noisily through his whiskers, eyed Meek disapprovingly. "Don't you like it?" he demanded. "Sure," lied Meek. "Sure I like it." He shut his eyes and poured the liquor into his mouth, gulped fiercely, desperately, almost strangling. Said Stiffy: "Tell you what let's do. Let's get into a game." Meek opened his mouth to accept the invitation, then closed it, caution stealing over him. After all, he didn't know much about this place. Maybe he'd better go a little easy, at least at first. He shook his head. "No, I'm not very good at cards. Just a few games of penny-ante now and then." Stiffy looked his disbelief. "Penny ante," he said, then guffawed as if he sensed humor in what Meek had said. "Say, you're good," he roared. "Don't s'pose you can use them lightnin' throwers of yours either." "Some," admitted Meek. "Practiced in front of a looking glass a little." He wondered why Stiffy rolled in his chair with mirth until tears ran down into his whiskers. * * * * * Stiffy held a full house ... aces with kings ... and his eyes had the look of a cat stalking a saucer full of cream. There were only two in the game, Stiffy and an oily gentleman called Luke. As the stakes mounted and the game grew hotter the others at the table dropped out. Standing behind Stiffy, Oliver Meek watched in awe, scarcely breathing.