At first his unbelief was amusing. Then anger came like a hurricane across his face.
The spacemen were hungry for a brawl. A hunching of Tompkins' shoulders would send them rushing. Nathan could kill perhaps a dozen before they got him. But there would be little satisfaction in that.
He said quietly, "I'll get you first, Tompkins. Better call off your dogs."
Tompkins hesitated. If he gave the signal, Nathan would kill him first. If he failed to give it, some drunk spaceman's shot might easily find his back.
Then a bellowing interruption solved Tompkins' problem for him. A newcomer burst into the tavern and grasped the scene.
He laughed with a gentle thunder. "Ho—I come to look for the son of Thymar and find him holding up the brawlingest joint on all Mars—including my old friend Trigger Tompkins!"
Nathan glanced out of the corner of his eye as Tabor strode forward.
VII
Tabor pushed his way into the crowd and the men backed away to return to their tables. The mob urge was broken.