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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31701-h.zip b/31701-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9222149 --- /dev/null +++ b/31701-h.zip diff --git a/31701-h/31701-h.htm b/31701-h/31701-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b8c5b23 --- /dev/null +++ b/31701-h/31701-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1344 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Noble Redman, by J. F. Bone + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; background-color: #FFFFFF; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.tr {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-top: 5%; margin-bottom: 5%; padding: 2em; background-color: #f6f2f2; color: black; border: dotted black 1px;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.p1 { font-size:xx-large; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + +.p2 { font-size: x-large; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + +.p3 { font-size: large; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-right: 0.25em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Noble Redman, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Noble Redman + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Grayam + +Release Date: March 19, 2010 [EBook #31701] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBLE REDMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="tr"><p class="center">Transcriber's Note:</p> +<p class="center">This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories July 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p></div> +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figleft" style="width: 325px;"> +<img src="images/image_001.jpg" width="325" height="896" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<i>It was a big joke on all concerned. When you look back, the +whole thing really began because his father had a sense of +humor. Oh, the name fit all right, but can you imagine +naming your son....</i></div> +<p> </p> + +<p class="p1">NOBLE REDMAN</p> + +<p> </p> +<p class="p2">By J. F. BONE</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="p3">ILLUSTRATED by GRAYAM</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figleft"><img src="images/image_a.jpg" alt="A" width="37" height="40" /></div> +<p> pair of words I heartily detest are <i>noble</i> and <i>redman</i>, +particularly when they occur together. Some of my egghead friends from +the Hub tell me that I shouldn't, since they're merely an ancient +colloquialism used to describe a race of aborigines on the American +land mass.</p> + +<p>The American land mass? Where? Why—on Earth, of course—where would +ancestors come from? Yes—I know it's not nice to mention that word. +It's an obscenity. No one likes to be reminded that his ancestors came +from there. It's like calling a man a son of a sloat. But it's the +truth. Our ancestors came from Earth and nothing we can do is going to +change it. And despite the fact that we're the rulers of a good sized +segment of the galaxy, we're nothing but transplanted Earthmen.</p> + +<p>I suppose I'm no better than most of the citizens you find along the +peripheral strips of Martian dome cities. But I might have been if it +hadn't been for Noble Redman. No—not <i>the</i> noble redman—just Noble +Redman. It's a name, not a description, although as a description his +surname could apply, since he <i>was</i> red. His skin was red, his hair +was red, his eyes had reddish flecks in their irises, and their whites +were red like they were inflamed. Even his teeth had a reddish tinge. +Damndest guy I ever saw. Redman was descriptive enough—but Noble! Ha! +that character had all the nobility of a Sand Nan—.</p> + +<p>I met him in Marsport. I was fairly well-heeled, having just finished +guiding a couple of Centaurian tourists through the ruins of K'nar. +They didn't believe me when I told them to watch out for Sand Nans. +Claimed that there were no such things. They were kinda violent about +it. Superstition—they said. So when the Nan heaved itself up out of +the sand, they weren't ready at all. They froze long enough for it to +get in two shots with its stingers. They were paralyzed of course, but +I wasn't, and a Nan isn't quick enough to hit a running target. So I +was out of range when the Nan turned its attention to the Centaurians +and started to feed. I took a few pictures of the Nan finishing off +the second tourist—the female one. It wasn't very pretty, but you +learn to keep a camera handy when you're a guide. It gets you out of +all sorts of legal complications later. The real bad thing about it +was that the woman must have gotten stuck with an unripe stinger +because she didn't go quietly like her mate. She kept screaming right +up to the end. I felt bad about it, but there wasn't anything I could +do. You don't argue with a Nan without a blaster, and the Park Service +doesn't allow weapons in Galactic Parks.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Despite the fact that I had our conversation on tape and pictures to +prove what happened, the Park cops took a dim view of the whole +affair. They cancelled my license, but what the hell—I wasn't cut out +for a guide. So when I got back to Marsport, I put in a claim for my +fee, and since their money had gone into the Nan with them, the Claims +Court allowed that I had the right to garnishee the deceaseds' +personal property, which I did. So I was richer by one Starflite class +yacht, a couple of hundred ounces of industrial gold, and a lot of +personal effects which I sold to Abe Feldstein for a hundred and fifty +munits.</p> + +<p>Abe wasn't very generous, but what's a Martian to do with Centaurian +gear? Nothing those midgets use is adaptable to us. Even their yacht, +a six passenger job, would barely hold three normal-sized people and +they'd be cramped as kampas in a can. But the hull and drives were in +good shape and I figured that if I sunk a couple of thousand munits +into remodelling, the ship'd sell for at least twenty thousand—if I +could find someone who wanted a three passenger job. That was the +problem.</p> + +<p>Abe offered me five thousand for her as she stood—but I wasn't having +any—at least not until I'd gotten rid of the gold in her fuel reels. +That stuff's worth money to the spacelines—about fifty munits per +ounce. It's better even than lead as fuel—doesn't clog the tubes and +gives better acceleration.</p> + +<p>Well—like I said—I was flusher than I had been since Triworld +Freight Lines ran afoul of the cops on Callisto for smuggling tekla +nuts. So I went down to Otto's place on the strip to wash some of that +Dryland dust off my tonsils. And that's where I met Redman.</p> + +<p>He came up the street from the South airlock—a big fellow—walking +kinda unsteady, his respirator hanging from his thick neck. He was +burned a dark reddish black from the Dryland sun and looked like he +was on his last legs when he turned into Otto's. He staggered up to +the bar.</p> + +<p>"Water," he said.</p> + +<p>Otto passed him a pitcher and damned if the guy didn't drink it +straight down!</p> + +<p>"That'll be ten munits," Otto said.</p> + +<p>"For water?" the man asked.</p> + +<p>"You're on Mars," Otto reminded him.</p> + +<p>"Oh," the big fellow said, and jerked a few lumps of yellow metal out +of a pocket and dropped it on the bar. "Will this do?" he asked.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Otto's eyes damn near bulged out of their sockets. "Where'd you get +that stuff?" he demanded. "That's gold!"</p> + +<p>"I know."</p> + +<p>"It'll do fine." Otto picked out a piece that musta weighed an ounce. +"Have another pitcher."</p> + +<p>"That's enough," the big fellow said. "Keep the change."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir!" You'da thought from Otto's voice that he was talking to +the Prince Regent. "Just <i>where</i> did you say you found it."</p> + +<p>"I didn't say. But I found it out there." He waved a thick arm in the +direction of the Drylands.</p> + +<p>By this time a couple of sharpies sitting at one of the tables pricked +up their ears, removed their pants from their chairs and began closing +in. But I beat them to it.</p> + +<p>"My name's Wallingford," I said. "Cyril Wallingford."</p> + +<p>"So what?" he snaps.</p> + +<p>"So if you don't watch out you'll be laying in an alley with all that +nice yellow stuff in someone else's pocket."</p> + +<p>"I can take care of myself," he said.</p> + +<p>"I don't doubt it," I said, looking at the mass of him. He was sure +king-sized. "But even a guy as big as you is cold meat for a little +guy with a Kelly."</p> + +<p>He looked at me a bit more friendly. "Maybe I'm wrong about you, +friend. But you look shifty."</p> + +<p>"I'll admit my face isn't my fortune," I said sticking out what little +chin I had and looking indignant. "But I'm honest. Ask anyone here." I +looked around. There were three men in the place I didn't have +something on, and I was faster than they. I was a fair hand with a +Kelly in those days and I had a reputation. There was a chorus of nods +and the big fellow looked satisfied. He stuck out a hamsized hand.</p> + +<p>"Me name's Redman," he said. "Noble Redman. My father had a sense of +humor." He grinned at me, giving me a good view of his pink teeth.</p> + +<p>I grinned back. "Glad to know you," I replied. I gave the sharpies a +hard look and they moved off and left us alone. The big fellow +interested me. Fact is—anyone with money interested me—but I'm not +stupid greedy. It took me about three minutes to spot him for a phony. +Anyone who's lived out in the Drylands knows that there just <i>isn't</i> +any gold there. Iron, sure, the whole desert's filthy with it, but if +there is anything higher on the periodic table than the rare earths, +nobody had found it yet—and this guy with his light clothes, street +boots and low capacity respirator—Hell! he couldn't stay out there +more than two days if he wanted to—and besides, the gold was refined. +The lumps looked like they were cut off something bigger—a bar, for +instance.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>A bar!—a bar of gold! My brain started working. K'nar was about two +days out, and there had always been rumors about Martian gold even +though no one ever found any. Maybe this tourist had come through. If +so, he was worth cultivating. For he was a tourist. He certainly +wasn't a citizen. There wasn't a Martian alive with a skin like his. +Redman—the name fitted all right. But what was his game? I couldn't +figure it. And the more I tried the less I succeeded. It was a +certainty he was no prospector despite his burned skin. His hands gave +him away. They were big and dirty, but the pink nails were smooth and +the red palms soft and uncalloused. There wasn't even a blister on +them. He could have been fresh from the Mercury Penal Colony—but +those guys were burned black—not red, and he didn't have the hangdog +look of an ex-con.</p> + +<p>He talked about prospecting on Callisto—looking for heavy metals. Ha! +There were fewer heavy metals on Callisto than there were on Mars. But +he had listeners. His gold and the way he spent it drew them like +honey draws flies. But finally I got the idea. Somehow, subtly, he +turned the conversation around to gambling which was a subject +everyone knew. That brought up tales of the old games, poker, faro, +three card monte, blackjack, roulette—and crapshooting.</p> + +<p>"I'll bet there isn't a dice game in town." Redman said.</p> + +<p>"You'd lose," I answered. I had about all this maneuvering I could +take. Bring it out in the open—see what this guy was after. Maybe I +could get something out of it in the process. From the looks of his +hands he was a pro. He could probably make dice and cards sing sweet +music, and if he could I wanted to be with him when he did. The more I +listened, the more I was sure he was setting something up.</p> + +<p>"Where is this game?" he asked incuriously.</p> + +<p>"Over Abie Feldstein's hock-shop," I said. "But it's private. You have +to know someone to get in."</p> + +<p>"You steering for it?" He asked.</p> + +<p>I shook my head, half puzzled. I wasn't quite certain what he meant.</p> + +<p>"Are you touting for the game?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The light dawned. But the terms he used! Archaic was the only word for +them!</p> + +<p>"No," I said, "I'm not fronting for Abie. Fact is, if you want some +friendly advice, stay outa there."</p> + +<p>"Why—the game crooked?"</p> + +<p>There it was again, the old fashioned word. "Yes, it's bowed," I said. +"It's bowed like a sine wave—in both directions. Honesty isn't one of +Abie's best policies."</p> + +<p>He suddenly looked eager. "Can I get in?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Not through me. I have no desire to watch a slaughter of the +innocent. Hang onto your gold, Redman. It's safer." I kept watching +him. His face smoothed out into an expressionless mask—a gambler's +face. "But if you're really anxious, there's one of Abie's fronts just +coming in the door. Ask him, if you want to lose your shirt."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," Redman said.</p> + +<p>I didn't wait to see what happened. I left Otto's and laid a +courseline for Abie's. I wanted to be there before Redman arrived. Not +only did I want an alibi, but I'd be in better position to sit in. +Also I didn't want a couple of Abie's goons on my neck just in case +Redman won. There was no better way to keep from getting old than to +win too many munits in Abie's games.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I'd already given Abie back fifty of the hundred and fifty he'd paid +me for the Centaurians' gear, and was starting in on the hundred when +Redman walked in flanked by the frontman. He walked straight back to +the dice table and stood beside it, watching the play. It was an +oldstyle table built for six-faced dice, and operated on +percentage—most of the time. It was a money-maker, which was the only +reason Abie kept it. People liked these old-fashioned games. They were +part of the Martian tradition. A couple of local citizens and a dozen +tourists were crowded around it, and the diceman's flat emotionless +voice carried across the intermittent click and rattle of the dice +across the green cloth surface.</p> + +<p>I dropped out of the blackjack game after dropping another five +munits, and headed slowly towards the dice table. One of the floormen +looked at me curiously since I didn't normally touch dice, but +whatever he thought he kept to himself. I joined the crowd, and +watched for awhile.</p> + +<p>Redman was sitting in the game, betting at random. He played the +field, come and don't come, and occasionally number combinations. When +it came his turn at the dice he made two passes, a seven and a four +the hard way, let the pile build and crapped out on the next roll. +Then he lost the dice with a seven after an eight. There was nothing +unusual about it, except that after one run of the table I noticed +that he won more than he lost. He was pocketing most of his +winnings—but I was watching him close and keeping count. That was +enough for me. I got into the game, followed his lead, duplicating his +bets. And I won too.</p> + +<p>People are sensitive. Pretty quick they began to see that Redman and I +were winning and started to follow our leads. I gave them a dirty look +and dropped out, and after four straight losses, Redman did likewise.</p> + +<p>He went over to the roulette wheel and played straight red and black. +He won there too. And after awhile he went back to the dice table. I +cashed in. Two thousand was fair enough and there was no reason to +make myself unpopular. But I couldn't help staying to watch the fun. I +could feel it coming—a sense of something impending.</p> + +<p>Redman's face was flushed a dull vermilion, his eyes glittered with +ruby glints, and his breath came faster. The dice had a grip on him +just like cards do on me. He was a gambler all right—one of the fool +kind that play it cozy until they're a little ahead and then plunge +overboard and drown.</p> + +<p>"Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," the diceman droned. "Eight is +the point." His rake swept over the board collecting a few munit +plaques on the wrong spots. Redman had the dice. He rolled. Eight—a +five and a three. "Let it ride," he said,—and I jumped nervously. He +should have said, "Leave it." But the diceman was no purist. Another +roll—seven. The diceman looked inquiringly at Redman. The big man +shook his head, and rolled again—four. Three rolls later he made his +point. Then he rolled another seven, another seven, and an eleven. And +the pile of munits in front of him had become a respectable heap.</p> + +<p>"One moment, sir," the diceman said as he raked in the dice. He rolled +them in his hands, tossed them in the air, and handed them back.</p> + +<p>"That's enough," Redman said. "Cash me in."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"I said I had enough."</p> + +<p>"Your privilege, sir."</p> + +<p>"One more then," Redman said, taking the dice and stuffing munits into +his jacket. He left a hundred on the board, rolled, and came up with a +three. He grinned. "Thought I'd pushed my luck as far as it would go," +he said, as he stuffed large denomination bills into his pockets.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I sidled up to him. "Get out of here, buster," I said. "That diceman +switched dice on you. You're marked now."</p> + +<p>"I saw him," Redman replied in a low voice, not looking at me. "He's +not too clever, but I'll stick around, maybe try some more roulette."</p> + +<p>"It's your funeral," I whispered through motionless lips.</p> + +<p>He turned away and I left. There was no reason to stay, and our little +talk just might have drawn attention. They could have a probe tuned on +us now. I went down the strip to Otto's and waited. It couldn't have +been more than a half hour later that Redman came by. He was looking +over his shoulder and walking fast. His pockets, I noted, were +bulging. So I went out the back door, cut down the serviceway to the +next radius street, and flagged a cab.</p> + +<p>"Where to, mister?" the jockey said.</p> + +<p>"The strip—and hurry."</p> + +<p>The jockey fed propane to the turbine and we took off like a scorched +zarth. "Left or right?" he asked as the strip leaped at us. I crossed +my fingers, estimated the speed of Redman's walk, and said, "Right."</p> + +<p>We took the corner on two of our three wheels and there was Redman, +walking fast toward the south airlock, and behind him, half-running, +came two of Abie's goons.</p> + +<p>"Slow down—<i>fast</i>!" I yapped, and was crushed against the back of the +front seat as the jock slammed his foot on the brakes. "In here!" I +yelled at Redman as I swung the rear door open.</p> + +<p>His reflexes were good. He hit the floor in a flat dive as the purple +streak of a stat blast flashed through the space where he had been. +The jockey needed no further stimulation. He slammed his foot down and +we took off with a screech of polyprene, whipped around the next +corner and headed for the hub, the cops, and safety.</p> + +<p>"Figured you was jerking some guy, Cyril," the jockey said over his +shoulder. "But who is he?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Redman picked himself off the floor as I swore under my breath. The +jockey <i>would</i> have to know me. Abie'd hear of my part in this by +morning and my hide wouldn't be worth the price of a mangy rat skin. I +had to get out of town—fast! And put plenty of distance between me +and Marsport. This dome—this planet—wasn't going to be healthy for +quite a while. Abie was the most unforgiving man I knew where money +was concerned, and if the large, coarse notes dripping from Redman's +pockets were any indication, there was lots of money concerned.</p> + +<p>"Where to now, Cyril?" the jockey asked.</p> + +<p>There was only one place to go. I damned the greed that made me pick +Redman up. I figured that he'd be grateful to the tune of a couple of +kilomunits but what was a couple of thousand if Abie thought I was +mixed up in this? Lucky I had a spaceship even if she was an +unconverted Centaurian. I could stand the cramped quarters a lot +better than I could take a session in Abie's back room. I'd seen what +happened to guys who went in there, and it wasn't pretty. "To the +spaceport," I said, "and don't spare the hydrocarbons."</p> + +<p>"Gotcha!" the jock said and the whine of the turbine increased another +ten decibels.</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Wallingford," Redman said. "If you hadn't pulled me out I'd +have had to shoot somebody. And I don't like killing. It brings too +many lawmen into the picture." He was as cool as ice. I had to admire +his nerve.</p> + +<p>"Thanks for nothing," I said. "I figured you'd be grateful in a more +solid manner."</p> + +<p>"Like this?" he thrust a handful of bills at me. There must have been +four thousand in that wad. It cheered me up a little.</p> + +<p>"Tell me where you want to get off," I said.</p> + +<p>"You said you have a spaceship," he countered.</p> + +<p>"I do, but it's a Centaurian job. I might be able to squeeze into it +but I doubt if you could. About the only spot big enough for you +would be the cargo hold, and the radiation'd fry you before we even +made Venus."</p> + +<p>He grinned at me. "I'll take the chance," he said.</p> + +<p>"Okay, sucker," I thought. "You've been warned." If he came along he'd +damn well go in the hold. I could cut the drives after we got clear of +Mars and dump him out—after removing his money, of course. "Well," I +said aloud, "it's your funeral."</p> + +<p>"You're always saying that," he said with chuckle in his voice.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>We checked out at the airlock and drove out to the spaceport over the +sand-filled roadbed that no amount of work ever kept clean. We cleared +the port office, drew spacesuits from Post Supply, and went out to my +yacht. Redman looked at her, his heart in his eyes. He seemed +overwhelmed by it.</p> + +<p>"Lord! she's beautiful!" he breathed, as he looked at the slim +polished length standing on her broad fins, nose pointed skyward.</p> + +<p>"Just a Starflite-class yacht," I said.</p> + +<p>"Look, Cyril," he said. "Will you sell her?"</p> + +<p>"If we get to Venus alive and you still want to buy her, she'll cost +you—" I hesitated, "twenty-five thousand."</p> + +<p>"Done!" he said. It came so fast that I figured I should have asked +for fifty.</p> + +<p>"The fuel will be extra," I said. "Fifty munits an ounce. There's +maybe ten pounds of it."</p> + +<p>"How far will that take me?"</p> + +<p>"About ten light-years at cruising speed. Gold is economical."</p> + +<p>"That should be far enough," he said with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>We drew the boarding ladder down and prepared to squeeze aboard. As I +figured it, we had plenty of time, but I hadn't counted on that nosy +guard at the check station, or maybe that character at the south +airlock of the dome, because I was barely halfway up the ladder to the +hatch when I heard the howl of a racing turbine and two headlights +came cutting through the night over the nearest dune. The speed with +which that car was coming argued no good.</p> + +<p>"Let's go," I said, making with the feet.</p> + +<p>"I'm right behind you," Redman said into my left heel. "Hurry! Those +guys are out for blood!"</p> + +<p>I tumbled through the lock and wiggled up the narrow passageway. By +some contortionist's trick Redman came through the hatch feet first, +an odd looking gun in his hand. Below us the turbo screeched to a stop +and men boiled out, blasters in hand. They didn't wait—just started +firing. Electrostatic discharges leaped from the metal of the ship, +but they were in too much of a hurry. The gun in Redman's fist +steadied as he took careful aim. A tiny red streak hissed out of the +muzzle—and the roof fell in! A thunderous explosion and an +eye-wrenching burst of light filled the passageway through the slit in +the rapidly closing hatch. The yacht rocked on her base like a tree in +a gale, as the hatch slammed shut.</p> + +<p>"What in hell was <i>that</i>?" I yelped.</p> + +<p>"Just a low yield nuclear blast," Redman said. "About two tons. Those +lads won't bother us any more."</p> + +<p>"You fool!—you stupid moronic abysmal fool!" I said dully. "You're +not content to get Abie on our heels. Now you've triggered off the +whole Galactic Patrol. Don't you know that nuclear weapons are +banned—that they've been banned ever since our ancestors destroyed +Earth—that their use calls for the execution of the user? Just where +do you come from that you don't know the facts of life?"</p> + +<p>"Earth," Redman said.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It left me numb. Any fool knew that there was no life on that +radioactive hell. Even now, spacers could see her Van Allen bands +burning with blue-green fire. Earth was a sterile world—a horrible +example, the only forbidden planet in the entire galaxy, a galactic +chamber of horrors ringed with automatic beacons and patrol ships to +warn strangers off. We Martians, Earth's nearest neighbor, had the +whole history of that last suicidal war drummed into us as children. +After all, we <i>were</i> the cradle of Galactic civilization even though +we got that way by being driven off Earth—and feeling that almost any +place would be better than Mars. Mars iron built the ships and powered +the atomics that had conquered the galaxy. But we knew Earth better +than most, and to hear those words from Redman's lips was a shock.</p> + +<p>"You're a damn liar!" I exploded.</p> + +<p>"You're entitled to your opinion," Redman said, "but you should know +the truth when it is told to you. I <i>am</i> from Earth!"</p> + +<p>"But—" I said.</p> + +<p>"You'd better get out of here," Redman said, "your Patrol will be here +shortly."</p> + +<p>I was thinking that, too. So I wiggled my way up to the control room, +braced myself against the walls and fired the jets. Acceleration +crushed me flat as the ship lifted and bored out into space.</p> + +<p>As quickly as I could, I cut the jets so the Patrol couldn't trace us +by our ion trail, flipped the negative inertia generator on and gave +the ship one minimal blast that hurled her out of sight. We coasted at +a few thousand miles per second along the plane of the ecliptic while +we took stock.</p> + +<p>Redman had wedged himself halfway into the control room and eyed my +cramped body curiously. "It's a good thing you're a runt," he said. +"Otherwise we'd be stuck down there." He laughed. "You look like a +jack in the box—all coiled up ready to spring out."</p> + +<p>But I was in no mood for humor. Somehow I felt that I'd been conned. +"What do I get out of this?" I demanded.</p> + +<p>"A whole skin—at least for awhile."</p> + +<p>"That won't do me any good unless I can take it somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Don't worry," Redman said. "They don't give a damn about you. It's me +they want, turn on your radio and see."</p> + +<p>I flipped the switch and a voice came into the control room—"remind +you that this is a Galactic emergency! The Patrol has announced that +an inhabitant of Earth has been on Mars! This individual is +dangerously radioactive. A reward of one hundred thousand Galactic +munits will be paid to the person who gives information leading to his +death or capture. I repeat,—<i>one hundred thousand munits</i>! The man's +description is as follows: Height 180 centimeters, weight 92 +kilograms, eyes reddish brown, hair red. A peculiarity which makes him +easily recognized is the red color of his skin. He is armed with a +nuclear weapon and is dangerous. When last seen he was leaving +Marsport spacefield. Starflite class yacht, registration number CY +127439. He has a citizen with him, probably a hostage. If seen, notify +the nearest Patrol ship."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I looked at Redman. The greed must have shone from me like a beacon. +"A hundred grand!" I said softly.</p> + +<p>"Try and collect," Redman said.</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to," I said and turned three separate plans to capture +him over in my head.</p> + +<p>"They won't work," Redman said. He grinned nastily. "And don't worry +about radioactivity. I'm no more contaminated than you are."</p> + +<p>"Yeah?—and just how do you live on that hotbox without being +contaminated?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Simple. The surface isn't too hot in the first place. Most of the +stuff is in the Van Allen belts. Second, we live underground. And +third we're protected."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"Where do you think this red skin comes from? It isn't natural. Even +you should know that. Actually we had the answer to protection during +the Crazy Years before the blowup when everybody talked peace and +built missiles. A bacteriologist named Anderson discovered it while +working with radiation sterilized food. He isolated a whole family of +bacteria from the food that not only survived, but lived normally in +the presence of heavy doses of radiation. The microbes all had one +thing in common—a peculiar reddish pigment that protected them.</p> + +<p>"Luckily, the military of his nation—the United States, I think they +called it, thought that this pigment might be a useful protective +shield for supplies. Extracts were made and tested before the Blowup +came, and there was quite a bit of it on hand.</p> + +<p>"But the real hero of protection was a general named Ardleigh. He +ordered every man and woman in his command inoculated with the extract +right after the Blowup—when communications were disorganized and +commanders of isolated units had unchallengeable power. He was later +found to be insane, but his crazy idea was right. The inoculations +killed ten per cent of his command and turned those who lived a bright +red, but none of the living showed a sign of radiation sickness after +they received the extract.</p> + +<p>"By this time your ancestors—the Runners—had gone, and those who +stayed were too busy trying to remain alive to worry much about them. +The "Double A" vaccine—named for Anderson and Ardleigh—was given to +every person and animal that could be reached, but it was only a small +fraction of the population that survived. The others died. But enough +men and animals remained to get a toe-hold on their ruined world, and +they slowly rebuilt.</p> + +<p>"We had forgotten about you Runners—but it seems you didn't forget +us. You sealed us off—forced us to remain on Earth. And by the time +we were again ready for space, you were able to prevent us. But we +will not be denied forever. It took an entire planet working together +to get me on Mars to learn your secrets. And when I got here, I found +that I wouldn't have time to learn. We had forgotten one simple +thing—my skin color. It isn't normal here and there is no way of +changing it since the extract combines permanently with body cells. So +I had to do the next best thing—obtain a sample of your technology +and bring it to Earth. I planned at first to get enough money to buy a +ship. But those creeps in Marsport don't lose like gentlemen. I damn +near had to beat my way out of that joint. And when a couple of them +came after me, I figured it was all up. I could kill them of course, +but that wouldn't solve anything. Since I can't fly one of your ships +yet, I couldn't steal one—and I wouldn't have time to buy one because +I was pretty sure the Patrol would be after me as soon as the rumors +of a red man got around. You see—<i>they</i> know what we look like and +its their job to keep us cooped up—"</p> + +<p>"Hmm," I said.</p> + +<p>"Why do they do it?" Redman asked. "We're just as human as you are." +He shrugged. "At any rate," he finished, "I was at the end of my rope +when you came along. But you have a ship—you can fly—and you'll take +me back to Earth."</p> + +<p>"I will?" I asked.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He nodded. "I can make it worth your while," he said.</p> + +<p>"How?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Money. You'll do anything for money." Redman looked at me soberly. +"You're a repulsive little weasel, Cyril, and I would distrust you +thoroughly except that I know you as well as you know me. That's the +virtue of being human. We understand each other without words. You are +a cheap, chiseling, doublecrossing, money-grabbing heel. You'd kick +your mother's teeth out for a price. And for what I'm going to offer +you, you'll jump at the chance to help us—but I don't have to tell +you that. You know already."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean—know already?" I said. "Can I read your mind?"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me—" Redman began. And then a peculiar smile +crossed his face, a light of dawning comprehension. "Why no," he said, +"why should you be telepathic—why should you? And to think I kept +hiding—" he broke off and looked at me with a superior look a man +gives his dog. Affectionate but pitying. "No wonder there were no +psych fields protecting that dice game—and I thought—" he started to +laugh.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>And I knew then why the Patrol had sealed Earth off. Mutated by +radiation, speeded up in their evolution by the effects of the Blowup, +Earthmen were as far ahead of us mentally as we were ahead of them +technologically. To let these telepaths, these telekinetics—and God +knows what else—loose on the Galaxy would be like turning a bunch of +hungry kelats loose in a herd of fat sloats. My head buzzed like it +was filled with a hive of bees. For the first time in years I stopped +thinking of the main chance. So help me, I was feeling <i>noble</i>!</p> + +<p>"Just take it easy, Cyril," Redman said. "Don't get any bright ideas."</p> + +<p>Bright ideas! Ha! I should be getting bright ideas with a character +who could read me like a book. What I needed was something else.</p> + +<p>"If you cooperate," Redman said, "you'll be fixed for life."</p> + +<p>"You're not kidding," I said. "I'd be fixed all right. The Patrol'd +hound me all the way to Andromeda if I helped you. And don't think +they wouldn't find out. While we can't read minds, we can tell when a +man's lying."</p> + +<p>"Have you ever heard of Fort Knox?" Redman asked.</p> + +<p>Fort Knox—Fort Knox—<i>fourknocks</i>! the thought staggered me.</p> + +<p>"The gold I had came from there," Redman said.</p> + +<p>Fourknocks! Sure, I'd heard of it. What citizen hadn't? They still +tell stories of that fabulous hoard of gold. Tons of it buried on +Earth waiting for someone with guts enough to go in and find it.</p> + +<p>"All your ship will hold," Redman said. "After we analyze its +principles."</p> + +<p>Five tons of gold! Six million munits! So much money! It staggered me. +I'd never dreamed of that much money. Redman was right. I <i>would</i> kick +my mother's teeth out if the price was right. And the price—I jumped +convulsively. My arm brushed the control board, kicking off the +negative inertia and slapping the axial correction jets.</p> + +<p>The ship spun like a top! Centrifugal force crushed me against the +control room floor. Redman, an expression of pained surprise on his +face before it slammed against the floor, was jammed helplessly in the +corridor. I had time for one brief grin. The Patrol would zero in on +us, and I'd have a hundred thousand I could spend. What could I do +with six million I couldn't use?</p> + +<p>Then hell broke out. A fire extinguisher came loose from its +fastenings and started flying around the room in complete defiance of +artificial gravity. Switches on the control board clicked on and off. +The ship bucked, shuddered and jumped. But the spin held. Redman, +crushed face down to the floor, couldn't see what he was doing. +Besides—he didn't know what he was doing—but he was trying. The fire +extinguisher came whizzing across the floor and cracked me on the +shin. A scream of pure agony left my lips as I felt the bone snap.</p> + +<p>"Got you!" Redman grunted, as he lifted his head against the crushing +force and sighted at me like a gunner. The extinguisher reversed its +flight across the room and came hurtling at my head.</p> + +<p>"Too late!" I gloated mentally. Then the world was filled with novae +and comets as the extinguisher struck. The cheerful thought that +Redman was trapped because he didn't—couldn't—know how to drive a +hypership was drowned in a rush of darkness.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>When I came to, my leg was aching like a thousand devils and I was +lying on a rocky surface. Near—terribly near—was a jagged rock +horizon cutting the black of space dotted with the blazing lights of +stars. I groaned and rolled over, wincing at the double pain in leg +and head. Redman was standing over me, carrying a couple of oxygen +bottles and a black case. He looked odd, standing there with a load in +his arms that would have crushed him flat on Mars. And then I knew. I +was on an asteroid.</p> + +<p>"But how did I get here?"</p> + +<p>"Easy," Redman's voice came over my headphone. "Didn't anyone ever +tell you an unconscious mind is easier to read than a conscious one?" +He chuckled. "No," he continued, "I don't suppose they did—but it is. +Indeed it is." He laid the bottles down, and put the box beside them. +"I learned how to operate the ship, stopped the spin, and got her back +into negative inertia before the Patrol found me. Found this place +about an hour ago—and since you began to look like you'd live, I +figured you should have a chance. So I'm leaving you a communicator +and enough air to keep you alive until you can get help. But so help +me—you don't deserve it. After I played square with you, you try to +do this to me."</p> + +<p>"Square!" I yelped. "Why you—" The rest of what I said was +unprintable.</p> + +<p>Redman grinned at me, his face rosy behind the glassite of his +helmet—and turned away. I turned to watch him picking his way +carefully back to where the yacht rested lightly on the naked rock. At +the airlock he turned and waved at me. Then he squeezed inside. The +lock closed. There was a brief shimmer around the ship—a briefer +blast of heat, and the yacht vanished.</p> + +<p>I turned on the communicator and called for help. I used the Patrol +band. "I'll keep the transmitter turned on so you can home in on me," +I broad-casted, "but get that Earthman first! He's got my money and my +ship. Pick me up later, but get him now!"</p> + +<p>I didn't know whether my message was received or not, because Redman +didn't leave me any receiver other than the spacesuit intercom in my +helmet. It was, I suspected, a deliberate piece of meanness on his +part. So I kept talking until my voice was a hoarse croak, calling the +Patrol, calling—calling—calling, until a black shark shape blotted +out the stars overhead and a couple of Patrolmen in jetsuits homed in +on me.</p> + +<p>"Did you get him?" I asked.</p> + +<p>The Patrolman bending over me shrugged his shoulders. "They haven't +told me," he said.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>They hauled me back to Marsport, put my leg in a cast, ran me through +the lie detector, and then tossed me in jail for safekeeping. I beefed +about the jail, but not too loud. As I figured it I was lucky to be +out of Abie's hands.</p> + +<p>Two days later, a Patrolman with the insignia of a Commander on his +collar tabs showed up at my cell. He was apologetic. I was a hero, he +said. Seems like the Patrol caught Redman trying to sneak through the +asteroid belt on standard drive and blasted him out of space.</p> + +<p>So they gave me the reward and turned me loose.</p> + +<p>But it didn't do me any good. After taxes, it only came to twenty +thousand, and Abie grabbed that before I could get out of town. Like +I said, Abie's unforgiving where money's concerned, and Redman had +taken him for over thirty kilos, which, according to Abie was my fault +for lifting him and getting him out of town. After he got my twenty +kilos he still figured I owed him twelve—and so I've never made it +back. Every time I get a stake he grabs it, and what with the +interest, I still owe him twelve.</p> + +<p>But I still keep trying, because there's still a chance. You see, when +Redman probed around in my mind to learn how to run the spaceship, he +was in a hurry. He must have done something to my brain, because when +he left me on that asteroid, as he turned and waved at me, I could +hear him thinking that the Patrol would not be able to stop +hyperships, and if he made it to Earth his people could emigrate to +some clean world and stop having to inject their kids, and while they +couldn't make the grade themselves, their kids could crash the Galaxy +without any trouble. I got the impression that it wouldn't be too much +trouble to empty Earth. Seems as though there wasn't many more than a +million people left. The red color wasn't complete protection +apparently.</p> + +<p>And there's another thing. About a month after I got the reward, there +was a minor complaint from Centaurus V about one of their officials +who disappeared on a vacation trip to Mars. His ship was a Starflite +class, Serial CY 122439. Get the idea?</p> + +<p>So I keep watching all the incoming tourists like you. Someday I +figure I'm going to run into a decolorized Earthman. They won't be +able to stay away any more than the other peoples of the Galaxy. Old +Mother Earth keeps dragging them back even though they've been gone +for over a thousand years. Don't get the idea they want to see Mars. +It's Earth that draws them. And it'll draw an Earthman's kids. And I +figure that if I could read Redman's mind, I can read theirs, too even +though I haven't read a thought since. It figures, does it not?</p> + +<p>Hey! Hold on! There's no need to run. All I want to do is collect a +fifty year old bill—plus interest. Your folks owe me that much.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Noble Redman, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBLE REDMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 31701-h.htm or 31701-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/7/0/31701/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Noble Redman + +Author: Jesse Franklin Bone + +Illustrator: Grayam + +Release Date: March 19, 2010 [EBook #31701] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBLE REDMAN *** + + + + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Amazing Science Fiction Stories July + 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + _It was a big joke on all concerned. When you look back, the + whole thing really began because his father had a sense of + humor. Oh, the name fit all right, but can you imagine + naming your son...._ + + + NOBLE REDMAN + + + By J. F. BONE + + + ILLUSTRATED by GRAYAM + + * * * * * + + + + +A pair of words I heartily detest are _noble_ and _redman_, +particularly when they occur together. Some of my egghead friends from +the Hub tell me that I shouldn't, since they're merely an ancient +colloquialism used to describe a race of aborigines on the American +land mass. + +The American land mass? Where? Why--on Earth, of course--where would +ancestors come from? Yes--I know it's not nice to mention that word. +It's an obscenity. No one likes to be reminded that his ancestors came +from there. It's like calling a man a son of a sloat. But it's the +truth. Our ancestors came from Earth and nothing we can do is going to +change it. And despite the fact that we're the rulers of a good sized +segment of the galaxy, we're nothing but transplanted Earthmen. + +I suppose I'm no better than most of the citizens you find along the +peripheral strips of Martian dome cities. But I might have been if it +hadn't been for Noble Redman. No--not _the_ noble redman--just Noble +Redman. It's a name, not a description, although as a description his +surname could apply, since he _was_ red. His skin was red, his hair +was red, his eyes had reddish flecks in their irises, and their whites +were red like they were inflamed. Even his teeth had a reddish tinge. +Damndest guy I ever saw. Redman was descriptive enough--but Noble! Ha! +that character had all the nobility of a Sand Nan--. + +I met him in Marsport. I was fairly well-heeled, having just finished +guiding a couple of Centaurian tourists through the ruins of K'nar. +They didn't believe me when I told them to watch out for Sand Nans. +Claimed that there were no such things. They were kinda violent about +it. Superstition--they said. So when the Nan heaved itself up out of +the sand, they weren't ready at all. They froze long enough for it to +get in two shots with its stingers. They were paralyzed of course, but +I wasn't, and a Nan isn't quick enough to hit a running target. So I +was out of range when the Nan turned its attention to the Centaurians +and started to feed. I took a few pictures of the Nan finishing off +the second tourist--the female one. It wasn't very pretty, but you +learn to keep a camera handy when you're a guide. It gets you out of +all sorts of legal complications later. The real bad thing about it +was that the woman must have gotten stuck with an unripe stinger +because she didn't go quietly like her mate. She kept screaming right +up to the end. I felt bad about it, but there wasn't anything I could +do. You don't argue with a Nan without a blaster, and the Park Service +doesn't allow weapons in Galactic Parks. + + * * * * * + +Despite the fact that I had our conversation on tape and pictures to +prove what happened, the Park cops took a dim view of the whole +affair. They cancelled my license, but what the hell--I wasn't cut out +for a guide. So when I got back to Marsport, I put in a claim for my +fee, and since their money had gone into the Nan with them, the Claims +Court allowed that I had the right to garnishee the deceaseds' +personal property, which I did. So I was richer by one Starflite class +yacht, a couple of hundred ounces of industrial gold, and a lot of +personal effects which I sold to Abe Feldstein for a hundred and fifty +munits. + +Abe wasn't very generous, but what's a Martian to do with Centaurian +gear? Nothing those midgets use is adaptable to us. Even their yacht, +a six passenger job, would barely hold three normal-sized people and +they'd be cramped as kampas in a can. But the hull and drives were in +good shape and I figured that if I sunk a couple of thousand munits +into remodelling, the ship'd sell for at least twenty thousand--if I +could find someone who wanted a three passenger job. That was the +problem. + +Abe offered me five thousand for her as she stood--but I wasn't having +any--at least not until I'd gotten rid of the gold in her fuel reels. +That stuff's worth money to the spacelines--about fifty munits per +ounce. It's better even than lead as fuel--doesn't clog the tubes and +gives better acceleration. + +Well--like I said--I was flusher than I had been since Triworld +Freight Lines ran afoul of the cops on Callisto for smuggling tekla +nuts. So I went down to Otto's place on the strip to wash some of that +Dryland dust off my tonsils. And that's where I met Redman. + +He came up the street from the South airlock--a big fellow--walking +kinda unsteady, his respirator hanging from his thick neck. He was +burned a dark reddish black from the Dryland sun and looked like he +was on his last legs when he turned into Otto's. He staggered up to +the bar. + +"Water," he said. + +Otto passed him a pitcher and damned if the guy didn't drink it +straight down! + +"That'll be ten munits," Otto said. + +"For water?" the man asked. + +"You're on Mars," Otto reminded him. + +"Oh," the big fellow said, and jerked a few lumps of yellow metal out +of a pocket and dropped it on the bar. "Will this do?" he asked. + + * * * * * + +Otto's eyes damn near bulged out of their sockets. "Where'd you get +that stuff?" he demanded. "That's gold!" + +"I know." + +"It'll do fine." Otto picked out a piece that musta weighed an ounce. +"Have another pitcher." + +"That's enough," the big fellow said. "Keep the change." + +"Yes, sir!" You'da thought from Otto's voice that he was talking to +the Prince Regent. "Just _where_ did you say you found it." + +"I didn't say. But I found it out there." He waved a thick arm in the +direction of the Drylands. + +By this time a couple of sharpies sitting at one of the tables pricked +up their ears, removed their pants from their chairs and began closing +in. But I beat them to it. + +"My name's Wallingford," I said. "Cyril Wallingford." + +"So what?" he snaps. + +"So if you don't watch out you'll be laying in an alley with all that +nice yellow stuff in someone else's pocket." + +"I can take care of myself," he said. + +"I don't doubt it," I said, looking at the mass of him. He was sure +king-sized. "But even a guy as big as you is cold meat for a little +guy with a Kelly." + +He looked at me a bit more friendly. "Maybe I'm wrong about you, +friend. But you look shifty." + +"I'll admit my face isn't my fortune," I said sticking out what little +chin I had and looking indignant. "But I'm honest. Ask anyone here." I +looked around. There were three men in the place I didn't have +something on, and I was faster than they. I was a fair hand with a +Kelly in those days and I had a reputation. There was a chorus of nods +and the big fellow looked satisfied. He stuck out a hamsized hand. + +"Me name's Redman," he said. "Noble Redman. My father had a sense of +humor." He grinned at me, giving me a good view of his pink teeth. + +I grinned back. "Glad to know you," I replied. I gave the sharpies a +hard look and they moved off and left us alone. The big fellow +interested me. Fact is--anyone with money interested me--but I'm not +stupid greedy. It took me about three minutes to spot him for a phony. +Anyone who's lived out in the Drylands knows that there just _isn't_ +any gold there. Iron, sure, the whole desert's filthy with it, but if +there is anything higher on the periodic table than the rare earths, +nobody had found it yet--and this guy with his light clothes, street +boots and low capacity respirator--Hell! he couldn't stay out there +more than two days if he wanted to--and besides, the gold was refined. +The lumps looked like they were cut off something bigger--a bar, for +instance. + + * * * * * + +A bar!--a bar of gold! My brain started working. K'nar was about two +days out, and there had always been rumors about Martian gold even +though no one ever found any. Maybe this tourist had come through. If +so, he was worth cultivating. For he was a tourist. He certainly +wasn't a citizen. There wasn't a Martian alive with a skin like his. +Redman--the name fitted all right. But what was his game? I couldn't +figure it. And the more I tried the less I succeeded. It was a +certainty he was no prospector despite his burned skin. His hands gave +him away. They were big and dirty, but the pink nails were smooth and +the red palms soft and uncalloused. There wasn't even a blister on +them. He could have been fresh from the Mercury Penal Colony--but +those guys were burned black--not red, and he didn't have the hangdog +look of an ex-con. + +He talked about prospecting on Callisto--looking for heavy metals. Ha! +There were fewer heavy metals on Callisto than there were on Mars. But +he had listeners. His gold and the way he spent it drew them like +honey draws flies. But finally I got the idea. Somehow, subtly, he +turned the conversation around to gambling which was a subject +everyone knew. That brought up tales of the old games, poker, faro, +three card monte, blackjack, roulette--and crapshooting. + +"I'll bet there isn't a dice game in town." Redman said. + +"You'd lose," I answered. I had about all this maneuvering I could +take. Bring it out in the open--see what this guy was after. Maybe I +could get something out of it in the process. From the looks of his +hands he was a pro. He could probably make dice and cards sing sweet +music, and if he could I wanted to be with him when he did. The more I +listened, the more I was sure he was setting something up. + +"Where is this game?" he asked incuriously. + +"Over Abie Feldstein's hock-shop," I said. "But it's private. You have +to know someone to get in." + +"You steering for it?" He asked. + +I shook my head, half puzzled. I wasn't quite certain what he meant. + +"Are you touting for the game?" he asked. + +The light dawned. But the terms he used! Archaic was the only word for +them! + +"No," I said, "I'm not fronting for Abie. Fact is, if you want some +friendly advice, stay outa there." + +"Why--the game crooked?" + +There it was again, the old fashioned word. "Yes, it's bowed," I said. +"It's bowed like a sine wave--in both directions. Honesty isn't one of +Abie's best policies." + +He suddenly looked eager. "Can I get in?" he asked. + +"Not through me. I have no desire to watch a slaughter of the +innocent. Hang onto your gold, Redman. It's safer." I kept watching +him. His face smoothed out into an expressionless mask--a gambler's +face. "But if you're really anxious, there's one of Abie's fronts just +coming in the door. Ask him, if you want to lose your shirt." + +"Thanks," Redman said. + +I didn't wait to see what happened. I left Otto's and laid a +courseline for Abie's. I wanted to be there before Redman arrived. Not +only did I want an alibi, but I'd be in better position to sit in. +Also I didn't want a couple of Abie's goons on my neck just in case +Redman won. There was no better way to keep from getting old than to +win too many munits in Abie's games. + + * * * * * + +I'd already given Abie back fifty of the hundred and fifty he'd paid +me for the Centaurians' gear, and was starting in on the hundred when +Redman walked in flanked by the frontman. He walked straight back to +the dice table and stood beside it, watching the play. It was an +oldstyle table built for six-faced dice, and operated on +percentage--most of the time. It was a money-maker, which was the only +reason Abie kept it. People liked these old-fashioned games. They were +part of the Martian tradition. A couple of local citizens and a dozen +tourists were crowded around it, and the diceman's flat emotionless +voice carried across the intermittent click and rattle of the dice +across the green cloth surface. + +I dropped out of the blackjack game after dropping another five +munits, and headed slowly towards the dice table. One of the floormen +looked at me curiously since I didn't normally touch dice, but +whatever he thought he kept to himself. I joined the crowd, and +watched for awhile. + +Redman was sitting in the game, betting at random. He played the +field, come and don't come, and occasionally number combinations. When +it came his turn at the dice he made two passes, a seven and a four +the hard way, let the pile build and crapped out on the next roll. +Then he lost the dice with a seven after an eight. There was nothing +unusual about it, except that after one run of the table I noticed +that he won more than he lost. He was pocketing most of his +winnings--but I was watching him close and keeping count. That was +enough for me. I got into the game, followed his lead, duplicating his +bets. And I won too. + +People are sensitive. Pretty quick they began to see that Redman and I +were winning and started to follow our leads. I gave them a dirty look +and dropped out, and after four straight losses, Redman did likewise. + +He went over to the roulette wheel and played straight red and black. +He won there too. And after awhile he went back to the dice table. I +cashed in. Two thousand was fair enough and there was no reason to +make myself unpopular. But I couldn't help staying to watch the fun. I +could feel it coming--a sense of something impending. + +Redman's face was flushed a dull vermilion, his eyes glittered with +ruby glints, and his breath came faster. The dice had a grip on him +just like cards do on me. He was a gambler all right--one of the fool +kind that play it cozy until they're a little ahead and then plunge +overboard and drown. + +"Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," the diceman droned. "Eight is +the point." His rake swept over the board collecting a few munit +plaques on the wrong spots. Redman had the dice. He rolled. Eight--a +five and a three. "Let it ride," he said,--and I jumped nervously. He +should have said, "Leave it." But the diceman was no purist. Another +roll--seven. The diceman looked inquiringly at Redman. The big man +shook his head, and rolled again--four. Three rolls later he made his +point. Then he rolled another seven, another seven, and an eleven. And +the pile of munits in front of him had become a respectable heap. + +"One moment, sir," the diceman said as he raked in the dice. He rolled +them in his hands, tossed them in the air, and handed them back. + +"That's enough," Redman said. "Cash me in." + +"But--" + +"I said I had enough." + +"Your privilege, sir." + +"One more then," Redman said, taking the dice and stuffing munits into +his jacket. He left a hundred on the board, rolled, and came up with a +three. He grinned. "Thought I'd pushed my luck as far as it would go," +he said, as he stuffed large denomination bills into his pockets. + + * * * * * + +I sidled up to him. "Get out of here, buster," I said. "That diceman +switched dice on you. You're marked now." + +"I saw him," Redman replied in a low voice, not looking at me. "He's +not too clever, but I'll stick around, maybe try some more roulette." + +"It's your funeral," I whispered through motionless lips. + +He turned away and I left. There was no reason to stay, and our little +talk just might have drawn attention. They could have a probe tuned on +us now. I went down the strip to Otto's and waited. It couldn't have +been more than a half hour later that Redman came by. He was looking +over his shoulder and walking fast. His pockets, I noted, were +bulging. So I went out the back door, cut down the serviceway to the +next radius street, and flagged a cab. + +"Where to, mister?" the jockey said. + +"The strip--and hurry." + +The jockey fed propane to the turbine and we took off like a scorched +zarth. "Left or right?" he asked as the strip leaped at us. I crossed +my fingers, estimated the speed of Redman's walk, and said, "Right." + +We took the corner on two of our three wheels and there was Redman, +walking fast toward the south airlock, and behind him, half-running, +came two of Abie's goons. + +"Slow down--_fast_!" I yapped, and was crushed against the back of the +front seat as the jock slammed his foot on the brakes. "In here!" I +yelled at Redman as I swung the rear door open. + +His reflexes were good. He hit the floor in a flat dive as the purple +streak of a stat blast flashed through the space where he had been. +The jockey needed no further stimulation. He slammed his foot down and +we took off with a screech of polyprene, whipped around the next +corner and headed for the hub, the cops, and safety. + +"Figured you was jerking some guy, Cyril," the jockey said over his +shoulder. "But who is he?" + + * * * * * + +Redman picked himself off the floor as I swore under my breath. The +jockey _would_ have to know me. Abie'd hear of my part in this by +morning and my hide wouldn't be worth the price of a mangy rat skin. I +had to get out of town--fast! And put plenty of distance between me +and Marsport. This dome--this planet--wasn't going to be healthy for +quite a while. Abie was the most unforgiving man I knew where money +was concerned, and if the large, coarse notes dripping from Redman's +pockets were any indication, there was lots of money concerned. + +"Where to now, Cyril?" the jockey asked. + +There was only one place to go. I damned the greed that made me pick +Redman up. I figured that he'd be grateful to the tune of a couple of +kilomunits but what was a couple of thousand if Abie thought I was +mixed up in this? Lucky I had a spaceship even if she was an +unconverted Centaurian. I could stand the cramped quarters a lot +better than I could take a session in Abie's back room. I'd seen what +happened to guys who went in there, and it wasn't pretty. "To the +spaceport," I said, "and don't spare the hydrocarbons." + +"Gotcha!" the jock said and the whine of the turbine increased another +ten decibels. + +"Thanks, Wallingford," Redman said. "If you hadn't pulled me out I'd +have had to shoot somebody. And I don't like killing. It brings too +many lawmen into the picture." He was as cool as ice. I had to admire +his nerve. + +"Thanks for nothing," I said. "I figured you'd be grateful in a more +solid manner." + +"Like this?" he thrust a handful of bills at me. There must have been +four thousand in that wad. It cheered me up a little. + +"Tell me where you want to get off," I said. + +"You said you have a spaceship," he countered. + +"I do, but it's a Centaurian job. I might be able to squeeze into it +but I doubt if you could. About the only spot big enough for you +would be the cargo hold, and the radiation'd fry you before we even +made Venus." + +He grinned at me. "I'll take the chance," he said. + +"Okay, sucker," I thought. "You've been warned." If he came along he'd +damn well go in the hold. I could cut the drives after we got clear of +Mars and dump him out--after removing his money, of course. "Well," I +said aloud, "it's your funeral." + +"You're always saying that," he said with chuckle in his voice. + + * * * * * + +We checked out at the airlock and drove out to the spaceport over the +sand-filled roadbed that no amount of work ever kept clean. We cleared +the port office, drew spacesuits from Post Supply, and went out to my +yacht. Redman looked at her, his heart in his eyes. He seemed +overwhelmed by it. + +"Lord! she's beautiful!" he breathed, as he looked at the slim +polished length standing on her broad fins, nose pointed skyward. + +"Just a Starflite-class yacht," I said. + +"Look, Cyril," he said. "Will you sell her?" + +"If we get to Venus alive and you still want to buy her, she'll cost +you--" I hesitated, "twenty-five thousand." + +"Done!" he said. It came so fast that I figured I should have asked +for fifty. + +"The fuel will be extra," I said. "Fifty munits an ounce. There's +maybe ten pounds of it." + +"How far will that take me?" + +"About ten light-years at cruising speed. Gold is economical." + +"That should be far enough," he said with a faint smile. + +We drew the boarding ladder down and prepared to squeeze aboard. As I +figured it, we had plenty of time, but I hadn't counted on that nosy +guard at the check station, or maybe that character at the south +airlock of the dome, because I was barely halfway up the ladder to the +hatch when I heard the howl of a racing turbine and two headlights +came cutting through the night over the nearest dune. The speed with +which that car was coming argued no good. + +"Let's go," I said, making with the feet. + +"I'm right behind you," Redman said into my left heel. "Hurry! Those +guys are out for blood!" + +I tumbled through the lock and wiggled up the narrow passageway. By +some contortionist's trick Redman came through the hatch feet first, +an odd looking gun in his hand. Below us the turbo screeched to a stop +and men boiled out, blasters in hand. They didn't wait--just started +firing. Electrostatic discharges leaped from the metal of the ship, +but they were in too much of a hurry. The gun in Redman's fist +steadied as he took careful aim. A tiny red streak hissed out of the +muzzle--and the roof fell in! A thunderous explosion and an +eye-wrenching burst of light filled the passageway through the slit in +the rapidly closing hatch. The yacht rocked on her base like a tree in +a gale, as the hatch slammed shut. + +"What in hell was _that_?" I yelped. + +"Just a low yield nuclear blast," Redman said. "About two tons. Those +lads won't bother us any more." + +"You fool!--you stupid moronic abysmal fool!" I said dully. "You're +not content to get Abie on our heels. Now you've triggered off the +whole Galactic Patrol. Don't you know that nuclear weapons are +banned--that they've been banned ever since our ancestors destroyed +Earth--that their use calls for the execution of the user? Just where +do you come from that you don't know the facts of life?" + +"Earth," Redman said. + + * * * * * + +It left me numb. Any fool knew that there was no life on that +radioactive hell. Even now, spacers could see her Van Allen bands +burning with blue-green fire. Earth was a sterile world--a horrible +example, the only forbidden planet in the entire galaxy, a galactic +chamber of horrors ringed with automatic beacons and patrol ships to +warn strangers off. We Martians, Earth's nearest neighbor, had the +whole history of that last suicidal war drummed into us as children. +After all, we _were_ the cradle of Galactic civilization even though +we got that way by being driven off Earth--and feeling that almost any +place would be better than Mars. Mars iron built the ships and powered +the atomics that had conquered the galaxy. But we knew Earth better +than most, and to hear those words from Redman's lips was a shock. + +"You're a damn liar!" I exploded. + +"You're entitled to your opinion," Redman said, "but you should know +the truth when it is told to you. I _am_ from Earth!" + +"But--" I said. + +"You'd better get out of here," Redman said, "your Patrol will be here +shortly." + +I was thinking that, too. So I wiggled my way up to the control room, +braced myself against the walls and fired the jets. Acceleration +crushed me flat as the ship lifted and bored out into space. + +As quickly as I could, I cut the jets so the Patrol couldn't trace us +by our ion trail, flipped the negative inertia generator on and gave +the ship one minimal blast that hurled her out of sight. We coasted at +a few thousand miles per second along the plane of the ecliptic while +we took stock. + +Redman had wedged himself halfway into the control room and eyed my +cramped body curiously. "It's a good thing you're a runt," he said. +"Otherwise we'd be stuck down there." He laughed. "You look like a +jack in the box--all coiled up ready to spring out." + +But I was in no mood for humor. Somehow I felt that I'd been conned. +"What do I get out of this?" I demanded. + +"A whole skin--at least for awhile." + +"That won't do me any good unless I can take it somewhere." + +"Don't worry," Redman said. "They don't give a damn about you. It's me +they want, turn on your radio and see." + +I flipped the switch and a voice came into the control room--"remind +you that this is a Galactic emergency! The Patrol has announced that +an inhabitant of Earth has been on Mars! This individual is +dangerously radioactive. A reward of one hundred thousand Galactic +munits will be paid to the person who gives information leading to his +death or capture. I repeat,--_one hundred thousand munits_! The man's +description is as follows: Height 180 centimeters, weight 92 +kilograms, eyes reddish brown, hair red. A peculiarity which makes him +easily recognized is the red color of his skin. He is armed with a +nuclear weapon and is dangerous. When last seen he was leaving +Marsport spacefield. Starflite class yacht, registration number CY +127439. He has a citizen with him, probably a hostage. If seen, notify +the nearest Patrol ship." + + * * * * * + +I looked at Redman. The greed must have shone from me like a beacon. +"A hundred grand!" I said softly. + +"Try and collect," Redman said. + +"I'm not going to," I said and turned three separate plans to capture +him over in my head. + +"They won't work," Redman said. He grinned nastily. "And don't worry +about radioactivity. I'm no more contaminated than you are." + +"Yeah?--and just how do you live on that hotbox without being +contaminated?" I asked. + +"Simple. The surface isn't too hot in the first place. Most of the +stuff is in the Van Allen belts. Second, we live underground. And +third we're protected." + +"How?" + +"Where do you think this red skin comes from? It isn't natural. Even +you should know that. Actually we had the answer to protection during +the Crazy Years before the blowup when everybody talked peace and +built missiles. A bacteriologist named Anderson discovered it while +working with radiation sterilized food. He isolated a whole family of +bacteria from the food that not only survived, but lived normally in +the presence of heavy doses of radiation. The microbes all had one +thing in common--a peculiar reddish pigment that protected them. + +"Luckily, the military of his nation--the United States, I think they +called it, thought that this pigment might be a useful protective +shield for supplies. Extracts were made and tested before the Blowup +came, and there was quite a bit of it on hand. + +"But the real hero of protection was a general named Ardleigh. He +ordered every man and woman in his command inoculated with the extract +right after the Blowup--when communications were disorganized and +commanders of isolated units had unchallengeable power. He was later +found to be insane, but his crazy idea was right. The inoculations +killed ten per cent of his command and turned those who lived a bright +red, but none of the living showed a sign of radiation sickness after +they received the extract. + +"By this time your ancestors--the Runners--had gone, and those who +stayed were too busy trying to remain alive to worry much about them. +The "Double A" vaccine--named for Anderson and Ardleigh--was given to +every person and animal that could be reached, but it was only a small +fraction of the population that survived. The others died. But enough +men and animals remained to get a toe-hold on their ruined world, and +they slowly rebuilt. + +"We had forgotten about you Runners--but it seems you didn't forget +us. You sealed us off--forced us to remain on Earth. And by the time +we were again ready for space, you were able to prevent us. But we +will not be denied forever. It took an entire planet working together +to get me on Mars to learn your secrets. And when I got here, I found +that I wouldn't have time to learn. We had forgotten one simple +thing--my skin color. It isn't normal here and there is no way of +changing it since the extract combines permanently with body cells. So +I had to do the next best thing--obtain a sample of your technology +and bring it to Earth. I planned at first to get enough money to buy a +ship. But those creeps in Marsport don't lose like gentlemen. I damn +near had to beat my way out of that joint. And when a couple of them +came after me, I figured it was all up. I could kill them of course, +but that wouldn't solve anything. Since I can't fly one of your ships +yet, I couldn't steal one--and I wouldn't have time to buy one because +I was pretty sure the Patrol would be after me as soon as the rumors +of a red man got around. You see--_they_ know what we look like and +its their job to keep us cooped up--" + +"Hmm," I said. + +"Why do they do it?" Redman asked. "We're just as human as you are." +He shrugged. "At any rate," he finished, "I was at the end of my rope +when you came along. But you have a ship--you can fly--and you'll take +me back to Earth." + +"I will?" I asked. + + * * * * * + +He nodded. "I can make it worth your while," he said. + +"How?" I asked. + +"Money. You'll do anything for money." Redman looked at me soberly. +"You're a repulsive little weasel, Cyril, and I would distrust you +thoroughly except that I know you as well as you know me. That's the +virtue of being human. We understand each other without words. You are +a cheap, chiseling, doublecrossing, money-grabbing heel. You'd kick +your mother's teeth out for a price. And for what I'm going to offer +you, you'll jump at the chance to help us--but I don't have to tell +you that. You know already." + +"What do you mean--know already?" I said. "Can I read your mind?" + +"Do you mean to tell me--" Redman began. And then a peculiar smile +crossed his face, a light of dawning comprehension. "Why no," he said, +"why should you be telepathic--why should you? And to think I kept +hiding--" he broke off and looked at me with a superior look a man +gives his dog. Affectionate but pitying. "No wonder there were no +psych fields protecting that dice game--and I thought--" he started to +laugh. + + * * * * * + +And I knew then why the Patrol had sealed Earth off. Mutated by +radiation, speeded up in their evolution by the effects of the Blowup, +Earthmen were as far ahead of us mentally as we were ahead of them +technologically. To let these telepaths, these telekinetics--and God +knows what else--loose on the Galaxy would be like turning a bunch of +hungry kelats loose in a herd of fat sloats. My head buzzed like it +was filled with a hive of bees. For the first time in years I stopped +thinking of the main chance. So help me, I was feeling _noble_! + +"Just take it easy, Cyril," Redman said. "Don't get any bright ideas." + +Bright ideas! Ha! I should be getting bright ideas with a character +who could read me like a book. What I needed was something else. + +"If you cooperate," Redman said, "you'll be fixed for life." + +"You're not kidding," I said. "I'd be fixed all right. The Patrol'd +hound me all the way to Andromeda if I helped you. And don't think +they wouldn't find out. While we can't read minds, we can tell when a +man's lying." + +"Have you ever heard of Fort Knox?" Redman asked. + +Fort Knox--Fort Knox--_fourknocks_! the thought staggered me. + +"The gold I had came from there," Redman said. + +Fourknocks! Sure, I'd heard of it. What citizen hadn't? They still +tell stories of that fabulous hoard of gold. Tons of it buried on +Earth waiting for someone with guts enough to go in and find it. + +"All your ship will hold," Redman said. "After we analyze its +principles." + +Five tons of gold! Six million munits! So much money! It staggered me. +I'd never dreamed of that much money. Redman was right. I _would_ kick +my mother's teeth out if the price was right. And the price--I jumped +convulsively. My arm brushed the control board, kicking off the +negative inertia and slapping the axial correction jets. + +The ship spun like a top! Centrifugal force crushed me against the +control room floor. Redman, an expression of pained surprise on his +face before it slammed against the floor, was jammed helplessly in the +corridor. I had time for one brief grin. The Patrol would zero in on +us, and I'd have a hundred thousand I could spend. What could I do +with six million I couldn't use? + +Then hell broke out. A fire extinguisher came loose from its +fastenings and started flying around the room in complete defiance of +artificial gravity. Switches on the control board clicked on and off. +The ship bucked, shuddered and jumped. But the spin held. Redman, +crushed face down to the floor, couldn't see what he was doing. +Besides--he didn't know what he was doing--but he was trying. The fire +extinguisher came whizzing across the floor and cracked me on the +shin. A scream of pure agony left my lips as I felt the bone snap. + +"Got you!" Redman grunted, as he lifted his head against the crushing +force and sighted at me like a gunner. The extinguisher reversed its +flight across the room and came hurtling at my head. + +"Too late!" I gloated mentally. Then the world was filled with novae +and comets as the extinguisher struck. The cheerful thought that +Redman was trapped because he didn't--couldn't--know how to drive a +hypership was drowned in a rush of darkness. + + * * * * * + +When I came to, my leg was aching like a thousand devils and I was +lying on a rocky surface. Near--terribly near--was a jagged rock +horizon cutting the black of space dotted with the blazing lights of +stars. I groaned and rolled over, wincing at the double pain in leg +and head. Redman was standing over me, carrying a couple of oxygen +bottles and a black case. He looked odd, standing there with a load in +his arms that would have crushed him flat on Mars. And then I knew. I +was on an asteroid. + +"But how did I get here?" + +"Easy," Redman's voice came over my headphone. "Didn't anyone ever +tell you an unconscious mind is easier to read than a conscious one?" +He chuckled. "No," he continued, "I don't suppose they did--but it is. +Indeed it is." He laid the bottles down, and put the box beside them. +"I learned how to operate the ship, stopped the spin, and got her back +into negative inertia before the Patrol found me. Found this place +about an hour ago--and since you began to look like you'd live, I +figured you should have a chance. So I'm leaving you a communicator +and enough air to keep you alive until you can get help. But so help +me--you don't deserve it. After I played square with you, you try to +do this to me." + +"Square!" I yelped. "Why you--" The rest of what I said was +unprintable. + +Redman grinned at me, his face rosy behind the glassite of his +helmet--and turned away. I turned to watch him picking his way +carefully back to where the yacht rested lightly on the naked rock. At +the airlock he turned and waved at me. Then he squeezed inside. The +lock closed. There was a brief shimmer around the ship--a briefer +blast of heat, and the yacht vanished. + +I turned on the communicator and called for help. I used the Patrol +band. "I'll keep the transmitter turned on so you can home in on me," +I broad-casted, "but get that Earthman first! He's got my money and my +ship. Pick me up later, but get him now!" + +I didn't know whether my message was received or not, because Redman +didn't leave me any receiver other than the spacesuit intercom in my +helmet. It was, I suspected, a deliberate piece of meanness on his +part. So I kept talking until my voice was a hoarse croak, calling the +Patrol, calling--calling--calling, until a black shark shape blotted +out the stars overhead and a couple of Patrolmen in jetsuits homed in +on me. + +"Did you get him?" I asked. + +The Patrolman bending over me shrugged his shoulders. "They haven't +told me," he said. + + * * * * * + +They hauled me back to Marsport, put my leg in a cast, ran me through +the lie detector, and then tossed me in jail for safekeeping. I beefed +about the jail, but not too loud. As I figured it I was lucky to be +out of Abie's hands. + +Two days later, a Patrolman with the insignia of a Commander on his +collar tabs showed up at my cell. He was apologetic. I was a hero, he +said. Seems like the Patrol caught Redman trying to sneak through the +asteroid belt on standard drive and blasted him out of space. + +So they gave me the reward and turned me loose. + +But it didn't do me any good. After taxes, it only came to twenty +thousand, and Abie grabbed that before I could get out of town. Like +I said, Abie's unforgiving where money's concerned, and Redman had +taken him for over thirty kilos, which, according to Abie was my fault +for lifting him and getting him out of town. After he got my twenty +kilos he still figured I owed him twelve--and so I've never made it +back. Every time I get a stake he grabs it, and what with the +interest, I still owe him twelve. + +But I still keep trying, because there's still a chance. You see, when +Redman probed around in my mind to learn how to run the spaceship, he +was in a hurry. He must have done something to my brain, because when +he left me on that asteroid, as he turned and waved at me, I could +hear him thinking that the Patrol would not be able to stop +hyperships, and if he made it to Earth his people could emigrate to +some clean world and stop having to inject their kids, and while they +couldn't make the grade themselves, their kids could crash the Galaxy +without any trouble. I got the impression that it wouldn't be too much +trouble to empty Earth. Seems as though there wasn't many more than a +million people left. The red color wasn't complete protection +apparently. + +And there's another thing. About a month after I got the reward, there +was a minor complaint from Centaurus V about one of their officials +who disappeared on a vacation trip to Mars. His ship was a Starflite +class, Serial CY 122439. Get the idea? + +So I keep watching all the incoming tourists like you. Someday I +figure I'm going to run into a decolorized Earthman. They won't be +able to stay away any more than the other peoples of the Galaxy. Old +Mother Earth keeps dragging them back even though they've been gone +for over a thousand years. Don't get the idea they want to see Mars. +It's Earth that draws them. And it'll draw an Earthman's kids. And I +figure that if I could read Redman's mind, I can read theirs, too even +though I haven't read a thought since. It figures, does it not? + +Hey! Hold on! There's no need to run. All I want to do is collect a +fifty year old bill--plus interest. Your folks owe me that much. + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Noble Redman, by Jesse Franklin Bone + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOBLE REDMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 31701.txt or 31701.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/7/0/31701/ + +Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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