"What's that?"
"How come there are no Martians working for you? The pay is good. I'd
think they'd be swarming around."
"You don't know much about Mars, son. I've got a hunch there aren't
many Martians."
When Rex started to reply, Tom Wilks waved a hand. "Oh, I know the
Federation experts tell us different--say they live up there under the
ice cap, but I don't believe it. A few of them would wander down."
"Young Tommy tells me you've got one around. A character named Barzoo."
"Uh-huh. God knows where he came from or what he wants here. Doesn't
care to work a lick."
This, Rex realized, was Tom Wilks' basis of judging a man. A worker
rated high with him. A fairly presentable worker rated high enough to
be considered for his daughter's hand. Not a bad way to look at it at
that, Rex thought.
"I'd like to meet this Barzoo."
"Tommy'll take you out there any time you say."
"He goes alone?"
"The old coot's harmless. Looked him over myself. He takes the
youngster fishing."
"Characters like that interest me."
"Well, finish this fence now and then get back to the house. Jean's
fixed up something a little special for supper. Got her hair and face
all shined up too. I wonder why?"
Wilks winked and strode off about his business, leaving Rex to wonder
about Jean. He'd have to be a little careful there. She was a nice
kid. There'd be no problem, though, because he wouldn't be around long
enough. He hooked the last strand of wire into place and headed for the
house....
* * * * *
Jean Wilks was a lithe, slim, dark-haired girl with laughing blue eyes
and red, almost sensuous lips. When Rex got to the house she was there
to open the door. She wore a close-fitting blouse, slacks, and a frilly
postage-stamp apron. There was welcome in her smile and her eyes spoke
quite frankly. They said, _I'm after you_.
"Come on in and shuck your coat," Jean said. "I'll bet you're frozen."
"Only my fingers."
Jean took his hand in hers and rubbed briskly. Her eyes teased. "I
thought you were too hot-blooded to let a little cold snap chill you."
"I'm used to a hot sun."
She could change mood quickly. Her smile slipped away. "Where _did_ you
come from, Rex?"
As he hesitated she put a quick finger over his lips. "Don't tell me.
Sorry I pried. We aren't that way here on Mars--really." She moved away
from him. "How do you like my apron! It's supposed to show you how
domestic I am."
"You did the cooking tonight?"
"Uh-huh. Mom and Dad and Tommy just left. They went to New Iowa for
dinner with some friends. I'm in charge of the feed bag."
"Swell--let's open it up."
Supper over, Rex helped Jean with the dishes. He was struck by the
domestic situation into which this case had brought him. He felt
guilty--as though he were trespassing on the hospitality of these fine
people. And fine people they were--of that he was assured. Now only
remained to discover by what weird turn of circumstances the perfectly
preserved body of Professor Spencer had been placed in a sealed potato
hold in New Iowa.
"The ships that go out of here," Rex said. "Do they all set down in New
Iowa--on the field there?"
They were having coffee in the living room. Jean had removed her apron
and sat close to Rex on the lounge. Her hair was soft and gleaming in
the light of the open flame from the old-fashioned fireplace.
"Usually," she said, "except during heavy harvest time. Then they put
down wherever they can. We've had them parked in our lower pasture. You
see we like to get the crops away as quick as we can and the freight
company always sends enough ships to accommodate us because the run is
so profitable."
"The lower pasture. Isn't that where this Barzoo fellow hangs out?"
Jean shuddered. "He's awful. I suppose I shouldn't feel this way about
him because he's harmless and very good to Tommy. But that dull brown
hide--his funny eyes."
"I'd like to see what he looks like. I'll have to ask Tommy to take me
down there."