lease.

Cleve pointed with a martinet gesture toward the smoked-out cigar butt
he'd thrown to the ground. "Pick it up!"

The Martian stood motionless.

"Pick--it--_up_, you stupid lout!"

[Illustration: _Larkin--now beyond sanity--was gibbering in the
grave._]

The Martian understood. With a glad little whimper, he bent over and
took the cigar butt in his hand.

"There," Cleve said. "Garbage can! Get it? _Garbage can._ Place for
trash--for cigar butts. Put it in there."

Smith wasn't sure whether the grin deepened or not. He thought it did,
as the Martian laid the cigar butt carefully into the trash can.

"Okay, you fella," Cleve barked, still scowling. "Back and away now.
Stay out there! Get it? Only come when you're called."

It took a few eloquent gestures, including the pantomime of swinging a
whip, before the Martian understood and complied. After he backed into
the circle of his fellows, Cleve dropped the cruel overseer manner and
turned with satisfaction to Larkin. "I think there will be no trouble at
all," he said. "Tomorrow we'll really get down to cases. I predict
smooth sailing."

They said goodnight to each other and went about the business of
preparing for slumber. As he raised the glowing flap of his tent, Larkin
saw Smith lounging in a chair before the electric heat unit. "Aren't you
going to get some sleep?"

"In a little while. I'm going to wait around until those two famous
moons come. Want to see them first hand."

"A waste of time," Larkin said. "Better keep your mind on more important
things."

"Goodnight," Smith said. Larkin did not reply, and Smith turned his head
to look at the Martians. He wondered where they had come from. They
probably had a village somewhere over the rise. He regarded them without
fear or apprehension of what might occur during the sleeping hours. He
had read the Primary Report, brought back by the pioneer expedition.
These people were entirely harmless. Also they were possessed of
remarkable stamina. They had stood for days, watching the first
expedition, grinning at it, without nourishment of any kind.

Maybe they live off the atmosphere, Smith told himself dreamily. At any
rate, they were ideal specimens to use as the foundation stones of an
empire. He lay back, thinking of Larkin; he did not like Larkin
personally, but he had to admire the steel in the man; the unswerving
determination that had made him what he was.

His mind drifted back to the things