dials on the crypterpreter.

"What is wrong, Brother?" asked the puzzled Sartan.

"I receive no direct translation for the term 'gambling'."

"What is the closest term the machine gives?"

"Fraternizing."

Sartan laughed. "Now it is you who fret, Toryl. According to the signpost legends 'fraternizing' would seem to be accurate."

A steady rolling sound of passionless one-armed bandits drowned out all other noise in Okie's Oasis Bar. As a result, Toryl and Sartan drew little attention when they entered. Except for their blue-metallic space suits they looked like and were ordinary humans.

They proceeded rather timidly toward the bar. Okie, the proprietor, was on duty readying the place for the night shift. Toryl held up his hand. The crypterpreter had already informed him that oral conversation was the manner of communication on the strange planet. Such conversation had long ago been abandoned on the planet Capella, but learned men such as Toryl and Sartan were familiar with how it was done, though when they spoke they sometimes had to halt between syllables.

"How-dy!" Toryl flashed a wide grin at the barkeep.

"Just hold your horses there, mister!" was Okie's sharp reply. "You ain't the only snake in this desert. There's four customers ahead of you!"

Sartan transmitted an admonishing thought to his companion. "Toryl, you should have noticed that the man was busy. He has only two hands."

"Forgive me, Brother, I was blinded by my own excitement."

The two Capellans waited and were soon attracted by the silver-handled machines that seemed to have most of the customers fascinated.

Sartan wandered over to where a small crowd of men was gathered around a single machine. A huge man, raw-boned and crimson-faced, wearing surplus army suntans, was operating the machine.

The big man dropped a large coin into a slot. He gave the silver handle a vicious snap. It made a discordant, bone-crushing sound. Three little wheels, visible under glass, spun dizzily. Anxious, screwed-up faces looked on as the first little wheel stopped. Bell Fruit.

A collective gasp came from the small crowd. The second little wheel stopped. Bell Fruit.

Another gasp.

Sartan touched the arm of the man operating the gambling device. "I beg your pardon, but could you please tell me—"

The big man wheeled around like a bear aroused from hibernation. "Hands off, mister! You trying to jinx me?"

The third little wheel stopped. Lemon.

The crowd groaned. The big man turned on Sartan again, a wild and furious look in his eye. "You jinxed me! Damn you, I oughta' bust you one right in the snout!!"

"My humble apol-o-gies, sir," the bewildered Sartan began.

"I'll give you your humble apologies right back with my fist," roared the gambler.

Toryl quickly made his way through the small crowd which by now was itching to witness a fight. "Ex-cuse me, sir, but my friend did not real-ize—"

"The hell he didn't!" The gambler fumed. "He was trying to jinx me, by God! And I'm gonna teach him to keep his paws—"

"Okay, okay, you guys, break it up!!" It was Okie, massive and mean looking, using his barrel belly to push his way through to the two aliens and the unlucky gambler. "What's goin' on here, Smokey?" he inquired of the gambler.

"Okie, I had a jackpot workin' when this dumb jerk here ups and grabs my arm—"

Toryl interrupted with, "My friend is sorry for what he did, sir."

Okie stabbed a cigar into his mouth. "Who are you guys anyhow? Where'd you dig up them crazy coveralls?"

"Sure a queer way to dress in this heat," spoke a voice from the crowd.

This was the moment of pride that Toryl and Sartan had looked forward to. They both grinned confident grins. "We have come to you from Capella," he said with some exultation.

Okie's face went blank. "Capella! Where the hell is