"Just what sort of thing do you do?"
She shrugged and made a moue. "Our little team concentrates on breaking down the traditional position of women in these cultures. To get them to drop the veil, go to school. That sort of thing. It's a long story and—"
Homer Crawford suddenly and violently pushed her to the side and to the ground and at the same time dropped himself and rolled frantically to the shelter of an adobe wall which had once been part of a house but now was little more than waist high.
"Down!" he yelled at her.
She bug-eyed him as though he had gone suddenly mad.
There was a heavy, stub-nosed gun suddenly in his hand. He squirmed forward on elbows and belly, until he reached the corner.
"What's the matter?" she blurted.
He said grimly, "See those three holes in the wall above you?"
She looked up, startled.
He said, grimly, "They weren't there a moment ago."