Grampaw Moseley was a man of action. He groped for the rifle swinging
loosely in Dick's grasp. He said, "Gimme! Minute I set eyes on that fat
ol' popinjay I knew--"
Dick said, "Hush, Grampaw!" and looked at Pop. Pop looked baffled. He
watched speechlessly as the caravan drew up beside them, the members
dismounted from their odd beasts of burden. Then he said, hesitantly,
"There seems to be some misunderstanding here, stranger. Allow me to
introduce myself and my family. I am Robert Moseley. This is my father,
my wife, my son and his wife and child, my other children--"
The heavy-set man made no offer to shake hands. He grunted, "Meetcha!
I'm Sam Wilkes. This is my wife, my dad, my kids." He stared at the
house, the cultivated fields. A look of grudging respect was in his
eyes; there was a touch of envy, too. "Been doin' all right for
yourself, ain't you? For a squatter!"
Pop said slowly, "Squatter, sir? I'm afraid there's some mistake. This
property--as a matter of fact, this entire planetoid--is mine under
Earth land-grant law. Now, if you will be kind enough to explain your
presence--"
"Yours!" Sam Wilkes' ruddy countenance darkened with outrage. "Earth
land-grant! Bessie, where'd I put that--Oh, here it is! Take a look at
this, Mr. Moseley!"
He slapped a strip of parchment into Pop's hand, and Pop unfolded
it carefully. Dick looked over his shoulder. One of the curious,
six-legged beasts skittered nervously and Bobby started. The
rusty-thatched boy who had dismounted from it grinned impishly. He
said, "What's the matter, skinny, you scared of him?"
Bobby said, "Of course not!" and watched the animal from the corner of
one eye. "What is it?"
"A gooldak. We brought it here from home. Fastest thing on legs.
What's your name?"
"Bobby. What's yours? And what do you mean--home?"
"Sam. They call me Junior. Why, home is Mars, of course. Where'd you
think?"
That word was being echoed now by Dick.
"Mars! This is a land-grant charter issued by the Martian government!
But--but--Pop, show him yours!"
"Don't do nothin' of the sort, son!" chirped Grampaw belligerently.
"That there scrip o' his'n is prob'ly fake! Don't explain nothin' to
'em. Jist tell 'em to git!"
The roly-poly father of Sam Wilkes turned a querulous eye on Grampaw.
"Who's the antique?" he demanded throatily. "Sounds to me like one of
them big-talkin', poor-scrappin' Earth soldiers I fit in the Upland
Rebellion."
"Upland Rebellion!" howled Grampaw. "Was _you_ one o' the rebels we
chased from the deserts to the Pole? I might of knowed it! Gimme that
gun, Dick--"
"Please, Grampaw!" begged Dick. He looked at Wilkes. "My father was
right, Mr. Wilkes. There is a dreadful mistake here. Apparently the
Colonial offices of Earth and Mars have disagreed on the ownership of
this planetoid; your government has issued a land-grant on it, and so
has ours."
"Asteroids," said Wilkes, "are Martian. Their very orbits prove--"
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Pop firmly. "Eros' orbit is between
Earth and Mars at this moment. It is a part of Earth's empire."
"Is it true," Bobby asked Junior, wide-eyed, "that pirate gangs hide in
the Martian deserts? I heard--"
"Shucks, no! We used to live in East Redlands, they wasn't no pirates
anywheres about. Were you ever in Chicago, Skinny? Is it true there's a
building there two miles high?"
"Two and a half," said Bobby complacently. "And it covers six city
blocks. And my name's not 'Skinny'."
"--you'll notice," Wilkes was grunting, "my grant is dated prior to
yours. Therefore Eros is mine, no matter which government's claim is
soundest. That's Intergalactic law."
"You seem to forget," Dick pointed out, "that we've established a
permanent settlement. As travelers, you may be considered itinerant
explorers with only the privileges of a study party. We will extend to
you the courtesies of Eros for the legal three months, but after that
time--"
"_You'll_ extend to _us_!" Wilkes' face was flame-red. "Why, for a lead
credit, I'd--"
"Sock 'im, Dick!" yelped Grampaw excitedly. "Don't let 'im git away
with that talk! Sock 'im!"
"Nobody," rumbled a deep, pleasant voice, "is going to sock anybody."
The tall, elder son of Sam Wilkes ranged himself beside his father.
Bobby noted with sudden approval that the young man's bronzed forearms
were corded; there was a crisp, firm set to his lips; he looked like a
man who could handle himself equally well in a ball-room or a brawl. He
said, "Send the women away, Mr. Moseley. I think we men can settle this
matter."
* * * * *
Moira stepped forward, confronted the young redhead boldly. "And who
are _you_ to be giving orders to us? Maybe Martians treat their women
like cattle, but Earthmen--"
"That will do, daughter," said Pop. And he nodded. "But that's not
a bad idea, Wilkes. There is no reason why we should not be able to
settle this question in a friendly manner. Mrs. Wilkes, if you and your
daughter would accept our hospitality, I'm sure Martha can find you a
cup of tea. Wilkes, if you and your son would care to sit down with us,
we can--Bobby, run and get some water for the Wilkes' horses. If they
are horses?" he added dubiously.
"Gooldaks!" sniffed Junior Wilkes disdainfully. "I'll help you, Skinny.
What's the matter with that sister of yours? She looks like an unbaked
cookie."
"Yeah? Then why does your brother keep staring at her all the time?
Come on--" Bobby strained desperately for a suitable term; culled his
resources, came up triumphantly. "Come on, Stinky!"
When they had watered and fed the gooldaks, Junior wanted to see around
the farm. Bobby showed him, while the other boy marveled wistfully.
"You folks struck it lucky. This is the best part of the whole
planet.... I mean of what we've seen so far. We got here a couple
weeks before you did, and we've traveled a couple hundred miles looking
for a good location. Boy, it sure was awful where we cracked up! Dad
named it Little Hell, because it's so hot and sandy and terrible. No
fresh water. One big hot, salt lake. Red mountains and desert land. All
oxides, Red said--he's my brother. He's smart."
"So's mine," said Bobby. "Are Martians people?"
"What do you mean? Of course they're people. Same as you. Men that left
Earth because there was too darn much fighting and stuff. And of course
Earth tried to claim Mars as a colony, but Mars won its fight for
independence."
"Earth just let 'em go free," scoffed Bobby. "They didn't want any
dried-up old planet, anyhow!"
"No? Then why did they--Hey! What's that?"
"Quoits. Know how?"
"Do I! I can beat you!"
"Huh!" said Bobby. He glanced at the house, but no one was paying
any attention to them. Pop and Dick were deep in conversation with
the Wilkes, father and son. The two old men were aside on one corner
of the porch rubbing salt in old wounds, re-fighting the battles of
Mercandor's Canal and High Plateau, re-surveying the campaigns that
had led to Martian independence and a better understanding between the
blue and red planets. Eleanor and Mom were preparing dinner; Moira had
disappeared. A thin and lonely figure stood on the steps looking at
Bobby and Junior. Junior called, "Hey, Ginger--come on down if you want
to." She came.