"No!" she gasped. "No Frank! You mustn't."
"You help girl," screamed Schmidzu, struggling futilely. "You help me, I not report, please!"
Frank did his best to respond, but Sadie clung to him until the scamour dragged its suffocating victim out of sight.
"It was our only chance," the girl wept as they chopped off the first scamour's head and turned back toward the palace with their trophy. "That rat would have had us concentrated; you know it as well as I do."
"Yes," he agreed bitterly, "but it still was a foul thing to do."
Their spirits revived somewhat when they discovered that three other hunters were missing ... and unmourned ... while the rest had returned empty-handed.
"Nothing to it," Sadie assured their cheering admirers when they reentered the keep. "We wanted to bring in another head, but the jits were getting bad." She limped off to have her bruises dressed.
They dined on scamour steaks again that night. They drank explosive gurka. They flirted outrageously with members of Mike's court. They watched the unbelievably lovely gyrations of two Martian flying girls who had been smuggled into Wildoatia at the risk of an interstellar incident.
Sadie told riproaring stories of the days when she was one of the toughest of the Incors. Then they danced square dances and sang cowboy ballads of Earth's old West which were the current rage. Finally they stumbled off to bed after having given Nirvana's commandant one of the pleasantest evenings of his misspent life.