Abruptly a voice said, "I wouldn't touch him if I were you."
Johnson followed the gaze of his near-attacker to his left where the lean man he had noted before stood with a flat blue pistol pointed in their direction. He held the pistol like a man who knew how to use it.
"A gun!" the man in the street gasped. "Are you crazy?"
"Better put it away—fast," Johnson warned his ally. "If the native police catch you with that gun, you're in bad trouble."
The lean man hesitated a moment, then shrugged and pocketed the gun. But he kept his hand in the pocket. "I can still use it," he said, to no one in particular.
"Look, chum," the bearded thug grated. "You're evidently a stranger here. Let me give you a tip. If you get caught using a gun, or even having one on you, the police'll slap you in jail with an automatic sentence of ten years. An Earthman couldn't stay alive in one of their so-called jails for a year.
"Now I've got a little business to attend to with Mr. Johnson, and I don't want any interference. So be smart and run along."
The smile never left the stranger's face. "Right now," he said, "I am interested in seeing that Mr. Johnson remains in good health. If you take another step toward him, I'll shoot. And, if I'm not successful in evading the police afterwards, you won't be alive to know it."
"You're bluffing," the bearded man said. "I...."