"Gentlemen," he said, "it would be to your credit to permit at least one of us to die happy. Now it so happens that I am addicted to the use of the Martian eyla. It is, I find, far superior to terrestial tobacco, having a cheering effect not unlike benzedrine. If you would permit me to enjoy one last smoke of it, I would find my transition to another and, I hope, better world infinitely more pleasant."
The half-breed glanced questioningly at his companions, then at the little administration building across the plain.
"Come," my father said pleasantly. "Surely you won't refuse a man's last wish. It takes only eight minutes to smoke an eyla tube. And at the first sign of any trickery, you can shoot."
The half-breed shrugged. "Okay," he grunted.
With elaborate care my father drew one of the slim, greenish tubes from his pocket, lit it.
Quickly the minutes slipped by. The half-breed stamped his feet against the cold, glanced at the eyla. Only a tiny stump remained in my father's fingers.
"All right," the Venusian growled. "Let's get this over with!"
"As you wish," my father said cheerfully. He took a last puff of the tube, tossed it onto the ice, ground it out with his foot. One long glance he shot toward the lights of the administration building, shining through the gloom, then straightened up. "And now—" he murmured.
Six flame-guns swung up to face us. Taon, betraying his first signs of emotion, gazed anxiously at my father. The latter's face was tense, anxious. In another moment....