GRIFTERS' ASTEROID
By H. L. GOLD
Harvey and Joe were the slickest con-men ever
to gyp a space-lane sucker. Or so they thought!
Angus Johnson knew differently. He charged them
five buckos for a glass of water—and got it!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories May 1943.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Characteristically, Harvey Ellsworth tried to maintain his dignity,though his parched tongue was almost hanging out. But Joe Mallon, withno dignity to maintain, lurched across the rubbish-strewn patch of landthat had been termed a spaceport. When Harvey staggered pontificallyinto the battered metalloy saloon—the only one on Planetoid 42—histall, gangling partner was already stumbling out, mouthing somethingincoherent. They met in the doorway, violently.
"We're delirious!" Joe cried. "It's a mirage!"
"What is?" asked Harvey through a mouthful of cotton.
Joe reeled aside, and Harvey saw what had upset his partner. He stared,speechless for once.
In their hectic voyages from planet to planet, the pair of panaceapurveyors had encountered the usual strange life-forms. But never hadthey seen anything like the amazing creature in that colonial saloon.
Paying no attention to them, it was carrying a case of liquor in twohands, six siphons in two others, and a broom and dustpan in theremaining pair. The bartender, a big man resembling the plumpishHarvey in build, was leaning negligently on the counter, ordering thisimpossible being to fill the partly-emptied bottles, squeeze fruitjuice and sweep the floor, all of which the native did simultaneously.
"Nonsense," Harvey croaked uncertainly. "We have seen enough queerthings to know there are always more."
He led the way inside. Through thirst-cracked lips he rasped:"Water—quick!"
Without a word, the bartender reached under the counter, brought outtwo glasses of water. The interplanetary con-men drank noisily, askedfor more, until they had drunk eight glasses. Meanwhile, the bartenderhad taken out eight jiggers and filled them with whiskey.
Harvey and Joe were breathing hard from having gulped the water sofast, but they were beginning to revive. They noticed the bartender'simpersonal eyes studying them shrewdly.
"Strangers, eh?" he asked at last.
"Solar salesmen, my colonial friend," Harvey answered in his usuallush manner. "We purvey that renowned Martian remedy, La-anagoYergis, the formula for which was recently discovered by ourselves inthe ancient ruined city of La-anago. Medical science is unanimous inproclaiming this magic medicine the sole panacea in the entire historyof therapeutics."
"Yeah?" said the bartender disinterestedly, polishing the chaserglasses without washing them. "Where you heading?"
"Out of Mars for Ganymede. Our condenser broke down, and we've gonewithout water for five ghastly days."
"Got a mechanic around this dumping ground you call a port?" Joe asked.
"We did. He came near starving and moved on to Titan. Ships don't landhere unless they're in trouble."
"Then where's the water lead-in? We'll fill up and push off."
"Mayor takes care of that," replied the saloon owner. "If you gents'refinished at the bar, your drinks'll be forty buckos."
Harvey grinned puzzledly. "We didn't take any whiskey."
"Might as well. Water's five buckos a glass. Liquor's free with everychaser."
Harvey's eyes bulged. Joe gulped. "That—that's ro