Andy heard a startled cry as the man saw him coming. The gun hummed as a ray lanced by him. And then he landed on the man's neck, the heat-gun went flying, and the man crumpled, Andy landing on top. The man wiggled and Andy twined his legs around the middle, applied pressure. Hands scratched at his face. He launched a short jab, aiming at the chin, but the man jerked his head to one side and Andy's fist landed up on the head, doing no damage but knocking off the man's cap. Andy took one look at the short red curls flying in his face and hastily stopped his fight. He released his legs and scrambled to his feet. "Madam--" he began, his intention being to say that he was sorry, but she made a grab for the heat-gun and he was obliged to shove her, which was not the thing a gentleman would do--but then ladies usually didn't try to blister every strange man they met with a heat ray. Andy picked up the gun. "Madam," he said reprovingly, "What in heck ails you?" "Give me that gun, you--claim-jumper!" Since she was starting toward him, he held the gun behind him. Seeing she couldn't get the gun, she stopped, and the blast she launched from her eyes made Andy think they were heat guns of a new kind. "Singe her, Boss, singe her," a new voice spoke, and Oscar came scrambling down the gravel slide. "Oh!" the girl gasped, for Oscar looked plenty blood-thirsty as he galloped. "It's a dingo. Kill it, quickly." Dingoes were the only predatory animals found on Io. What they lacked in size they made up in fierceness, and since they usually hunted in packs, they made life very unhappy for the lone prospector. "No. It's Oscar. He's not dangerous." The honey-bear skidded to a stop beside them, saw how fright had made the girl move close to his boss, and disgust was very plain in his voice. "Phooey--a woman!" She saw the half-grin lurking on Andy's face, and jerked away, her cheeks flaming. "He liked to have you stand close to him, the idiot," said Oscar in an easy way. "Mind your manners!" said Andy sharply, but the _thlot_ only grinned and wrinkled his nose to show his disgust. Oscar was a woman-hater. "Now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" she snapped. "Do? Do with you--" It was a poser, Andy saw. He hadn't wanted a woman, hadn't bargained for one, and hadn't the least idea of what to do with one. He knew that men frequently married them, and while he was thirty-three and quite old enough to get married, he hadn't been planning on it, for space men on the Jupiter run usually didn't live long enough to enjoy matrimony. And anyhow, Andy had a vague idea that you were supposed to be in love before you got married, after an appropriate interval of moonlight, and romance, and nonsense. "I'm not going to do anything with you," Andy continued, shaking his head. "Why did you jump on me then?" "I! Hell, woman!--I beg your pardon--Why did you shoot at me?"