"They's shootin' goin' on down there," he said. "See them white puffs over the edge of the desert?"
"I'm supposed to be preventing the war," said Retief. "It looks like I'm a little late."
The pilot's head snapped around. "War?" he yelped. "Nobody told me they was a war goin' on on 'Dobe. If that's what that is, I'm gettin' out of here."
"Hold on," said Retief. "I've got to get down. They won't shoot at you."
"They shore won't, sonny. I ain't givin' 'em the chance." He started punching keys on the console. Retief reached out, caught his wrist.
"Maybe you didn't hear me. I said I've got to get down."
The pilot plunged against the restraint, swung a punch that Retief blocked casually. "Are you nuts?" the pilot screeched. "They's plenty shootin' goin' on fer me to see it fifty miles out."
"The mail must go through, you know."
"Okay! You're so dead set on gettin' killed, you take the skiff. I'll tell 'em to pick up the remains next trip."
"You're a pal. I'll take your offer."