I grasped two spokes and pushed with what little energy remained in my depleted body, but I could not tilt the ponderous firearm. I said, "Can you drive his tractor over here, Toal? You can tow the canner off." "Not enough pain for you?" Rasmussen gasped. "Use a lever. Lift the wheel." "Cut a pole," Toal said and drew a knife. Rasmussen continued to rave. "Where is gratitude? I saved you! Could not kill him by spraying his head." I said, "You almost blasted me. Yesterday, you left us out here." "Did as the old books instruct," Rasmussen said. "Bracketed the Hog with two shells. Third round killed him! Forgot the recoil that time. Cannon broke my leg." The old man's brown face had turned a sickly, greenish white. "Where did you get this canner, uh, cannon?" I said. Rasmussen moaned, tried to sit up, and sank back on his elbows. "Is what you saw when grounding in the shuttle." Toal brought a stout pole, and we piled rocks for a fulcrum. I pushed one end of the pole through the wheel spokes and under the axle. Rasmussen said, "Maximum Eijkman had it built in secret. Could have shot the Hog weeks ago. Eijkman had dreams of changing our government into something strange. Himself as head." Toal and I threw our weight on the lever. The wheel lifted. Rasmussen crawled sideways. We eased the cannon to the ground. I said, "Galactic Government forbids private planets to make such weapons." Rasmussen gasped, "Nonsense. Was required to protect us from native life." XV: FOURDAY AFTERNOON As Joe's sun moved behind rising clouds toward the horizon, an odd little procession walked from Joetropolis. Toal said, "The Jury still refused to pay anything?" "Yes," I said. "I told them again that Rasmussen wouldn't have killed the Hog if I hadn't lured him into the open. They wouldn't pay even part of my fee, and they wouldn't reimburse me for the equipment I've lost. They quoted Ordinances and said I stole a firearm and a box of dynamite. They hinted that I broke Rasmussen's leg." Toal said, "You'll make other hunts on other worlds. Their people will reward you." "I suppose so," I sighed. Ahead of us, former Foreman Maximum Eijkman, now reduced to Recessive--Alien Status, stalked in injured majesty. Two couples and their Alien children followed us. Against black thunder-clouds, the shuttle, _Joe Nordo III_, pointed to the sky but appeared incapable of rising above the surface. Somewhere in space and light-hours distant, the astraplane, Ap-GG-12C, approached the orbital rendezvous. Farmers leaned on their primitive rotor tillers and watched us pass. Several, swinging sticks and shovels, pursued a swarm of toothies. Hundreds of toothies squeaked around the shed at the edge of the spacefield.