HARD
GUY
By H. B. CARLETON
He was standing at the sideof the glassite super-highway,his arm half-raised, thumbpointed in the same direction asthat of the approaching rocketcar. Ordinarily Frederick Mardenwould have passed a hitch-hikerwithout stopping, but therewas something in the bearingand appearance of this one thatcaused him to apply his brakes.
Marden opened the door nextto the vacant seat beside him.
"Going my way?" he asked.
A pair of steady, unsmilingblue eyes looked him over."Yeah."
"All right, then. Hop in."
The hitch-hiker took his time.He slid into the seat with casualdeliberateness and slammed thecar door shut. The rocket car gotunder way once more.
They rode in silence for halfa mile or so. Finally Mardenglanced questioningly at his companion'sexpressionless profile.
"Where are you headed for?"he asked.
"Dentonville." He spoke fromthe corner of his mouth, withoutturning his head.
"Oh, yes. That's the next town,isn't it?"
"Yeah."
Not very communicative, reflectedMarden, noticing therather ragged condition of theother's celo-lex clothing.
"Have much trouble gettingrides?"
The passenger turned hishead, his blue eyes without emotion.
"Yeah. Most guys are leeryabout pickin' up hitch-hikers.Scared they'll get robbed."
Marden pursed his lips, nodded.
"Something to that, all right.I'm usually pretty careful myself;but I figured you lookedokay."
"Can't always tell by looks,"was the calm reply. "'Course usguys mostly pick out some guywith a swell atomic-mobile ifwe're goin' to pull a stick-up.When we see a old heap like thisone there's usually not enoughdough to make it pay."
Marden felt his jaw drop.
"Say, you sound, like you goin for that sort of thing! I'mtelling you right now, I haven'tenough cash on me to make itworth your while. I'm just asalesman, trying to get along."
"You got nothin' to worryabout," his passenger assuredhim. "Stick-ups ain't my racket."
An audible sigh of relief escapedMarden.
"I'm certainly glad to hearthat! What is your—er—racket,anyway?"
The blue eyes frosted over.
"Look, chum, sometimes itain't exactly healthy to ask questionslike that."
"Pardon me," Marden saidhastily. "I didn't mean anything.It's none of my business, ofcourse."
The calm eyes flicked over hiscontrite expression.
"Skip it, pal. You look like aright guy. I'll put you next tosomethin'. Only keep your lipbuttoned, see?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"I'm Mike Eagen—head of theStrato Rovers."
"No!" Marden was plainlyawed. "The Strato Rovers, eh?I've heard of them, all right."
The other nodded complacently.
"Yeah. We're about the toughestmob this side of Mars. Wedon't bother honest people,though. We get ours from thecrooks and racketeers. Theycan't squeal to the InterplanetaryPolice."
"There's a lot in what yousay," agreed Marden. "And ofcourse that puts your ... mobin the Robin Hood class."
"Robin Hood—nuts! That guywas a dope! Runnin' around withbows and arrows. Why, we gota mystery ray that p