"Is the shooting over?" Oscar chirped from some unseen but probably secure refuge. "Yeh. Come on out." The honey-bear came into sight. He looked up at Andy. "Boss, I tell you let's get out of here. First thing you know, you'll get in the way of a heat beam, and then what'll I do for sugar?" "Skirmish, dern you, skirmish. We're going to track that fella down and find out how come all this shooting." "Not me, Boss, not me." "Yes, you, or no sugar." "Aw, hell." Oscar subsisted largely on a Ganymedian sweet and found sugar an excellent substitute. The honey-bears were a great puzzle to scientists. Their hair glowed when subjected to rays from radium, the creatures were very intelligent, had vocal organs readily adaptable to human speech, but were altogether an enigma. They lived in holes in the ground, had a very loose tribal organization, but made no effort to improve their condition, and obviously despised the human race for trying to improve theirs. They were content to be honey-bears, or _thlots_, to give an approximate English rendering of what they called themselves. Affectionate and loyal, they made marvelous pets. And while Oscar protested against following the person who had shot at them, Andy knew the _thlot_ would be right with him. Their advance over the broken terrain of Io would have done credit to an Indian. Andy, figuring an ambush might be ahead, was very cautious, and Oscar was cautious by nature. They had advanced for over a mile when Andy caught a glimpse of a tiny glow in a crevice in the rocks. He crept forward and found himself on a ledge overlooking a very humble camp. Perhaps thirty feet below him, the man was sitting. He was using his heat-gun set at low concentration to boil water, an old prospector's trick. Even in the cumbersome garb necessitated by the chill of Io, the man looked lithe and slender. Some youngster, Andy decided, taking a desperate chance on a frosty moon, but he wondered what necessity would drive a kid to brave the rigors of Jupiter's flea-bitten satellite. * * * * * He craned his neck for a better look and a loose stone turned under his feet. The figure tending the boiling kettle was on the alert instantly. He had grabbed the heat-gun and was looking for a target. Andy was in a pickle. He was too close to use the blaster, and he didn't want to use it anyhow, but any second the man would locate him and then the heat-gun would make him sizzle. There was only one thing to do, and he did it. He launched himself out into space, the weak gravity of Io permitting him to make the drop without danger.