one touch of terra By HANNES BOK Maybe they _had_ been bad mannered--accepting things of her--but who was to guess the Martian would interfere? _Hannes Bok, who has been part of the world of Science Fiction and Fantasy for so many years, tells the touching story of Trixie and her dandelions, in the little mining camp on Venus, and how one of them th'ar Martians tried to do her--and the citizens of Finchburg--wrong.... Of course Goreck was just giving Trixie the runaround. All he was really after was her dandelions ... as you would have been...._ [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe December 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] "Listen, Elmer!" Horseface Smith told his gwip. "What's that racket ahead--yellin', shootin', or both?" Elmer obediently stopped and cocked his duck-head in the direction of Finchburg, then nodded sagely, if somewhat ambiguously. He was a pack animal of the sort commonly used by psithium-prospectors on Venus, now that interplanetary travel was commonplace, and he was almost as intelligent as a human. Despite his size--he was nearly as large as a terrestrial horse--he must have had a dash of flying-squirrel blood, since when in a hurry gwips were apt to bound off the ground, flattening their plump bodies in a flying-squirrel glide which took them thirty to fifty feet per jump. But at present Elmer wasn't able to do any bounding. His saddle-bags were sagging with samples of ore, and he had all he could do just to walk. Horseface clunked his heels on Elmer's sides, urging him up the stony hillside. They gained the summit and craned down at Finchburg, only half a mile below. Like most of the mining-settlements scattered sparsely over the vast Venus deserts, it consisted of scarcely a dozen buildings, none of them new, but all in reasonably good repair. If it is true that a town speaks for its inhabitants, Finchburg plainly declared that while its people might be down on their luck, but they hadn't lost hope. "Looks like Trixie is blowing her jets," Horseface speculated, and Elmer dipped his broad bill in agreement. "Wonder what's eating her? She ain't acted human for months!" Elmer cocked an inquiring eye on his master as if asking whether Trixie's behavior could possibly be considered gwippish. He decided not, and clucked sympathetically. He knew all about Trixie's idiosyncrasies. But then, who--or what--didn't? Trixie O'Neill was the only woman within a thousand miles of the Venus Flats, and furthermore, the only terrestrial woman. She wasn't young nor beautiful. She was in her middle fifties, gaunt, coarse, and had a wooden leg.