Title: The Hunters
Author: Morrison, William Douglas, 1853-1943
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Hunters" ***


                                  THE
                                HUNTERS

                          BY WILLIAM MORRISON

                       ILLUSTRATED BY VAN DONGEN


            To all who didn't know him, Curt George was a
            mighty hunter and actor. But this time he was
            up against others who could really act, and
            whose business was the hunting of whole worlds.


There were thirty or more of the little girls, their ages ranging
apparently from nine to eleven, all of them chirping away like a flock
of chicks as they followed the old mother hen past the line of cages.
"Now, now, girls," called Miss Burton cheerily. "Don't scatter. I can't
keep my eye on you if you get too far away from me. You, Hilda, give me
that water pistol. No, don't fill it up first at that fountain. And
Frances, stop bouncing your ball. You'll lose it through the bars, and a
polar bear may get it and not want to give it back."

Frances giggled. "Oh, Miss Burton, do you think the polar bear would
want to play catch?"

The two men who were looking on wore pleased smiles. "Charming," said
Manto. "But somewhat unpredictable, despite all our experiences, _muy
amigo_."

[Illustration]

"No attempts at Spanish, Manto, not here. It calls attention to us. And
you are not sure of the grammar anyway. You may find yourself saying
things you do not intend."

"Sorry, Palit. It wasn't an attempt to show my skill, I assure you. It's
that by now I have a tendency to confuse one language with another."

"I know. You were never a linguist. But about these interesting
creatures--"

"I suggest that they could stand investigation. It would be good to know
how they think."

"Whatever you say, Manto. If you wish, we shall join the little ladies."

"We must have our story prepared first."

Palit nodded, and the two men stepped under the shade of a tree whose
long, drooping, leaf-covered branches formed a convenient screen. For a
moment, the tree hid silence. Then there came from beneath the branches
the chatter of girlish voices, and two little girls skipped merrily
away. Miss Burton did not at first notice that now she had an additional
two children in her charge.

"Do you think you will be able to keep your English straight?" asked one
of the new little girls.

The other one smiled with amusement and at first did not answer. Then
she began to skip around her companion and chant, "I know a secret, I
know a secret."

There was no better way to make herself inconspicuous. For some time,
Miss Burton did not notice her.

                   *       *       *       *       *

The polar bears, the grizzlies, the penguins, the reptiles, all were
left behind. At times the children scattered, but Miss Burton knew how
to get them together again, and not one was lost.

"Here, children, is the building where the kangaroos live. Who knows
where kangaroos come from?"

"Australia!" clanged the shrill chorus.

"That's right. And what other animals come from Australia?"

"I know, Miss Burton!" cried Frances, a dark-haired nine-year-old with a
pair of glittering eyes that stared like a pair of critics from a small
heart-shaped face. "I've been here before. Wallabies and wombats!"

"Very good, Frances."

Frances smirked at the approbation. "I've been to the zoo lots of
times," she said to the girl next to her. "My father takes me."

"I wish my father would take me too," replied the other little girl,
with an air of wistfulness.

"Why don't you ask him to?" Before the other little girl could answer,
Frances paused, cocked her head slightly, and demanded, "Who are you?
You aren't in our class."

"I'm in Miss Hassel's class."

"Miss Hassel? Who is she? Is she in our school?"

"I don't know," said the other little girl uncertainly. "I go to P. S.
77--"

"Oh, Miss Burton," screamed Frances. "Here's a girl who isn't in our
class! She got lost from her own class!"

                   *       *       *       *       *

"Really?" Miss Burton seemed rather pleased at the idea that some other
teacher had been so careless as to lose one of her charges. "What's your
name, child?"

"I'm Carolyn."

"Carolyn what?"

"Carolyn Manto. Please, Miss Burton, I had to go to the bathroom, and
then when I came out--"

"Yes, yes, I know."

A shrill cry came from another section of her class. "Oh, Miss Burton,
here's another one who's lost!"

The other little girl was pushed forward. "Now, who are _you_?" Miss
Burton asked.

"I'm Doris Palit. I went with Carolyn to the bathroom--"

                   *       *       *       *       *

Miss Burton made a sound of annoyance. Imagine losing _two_ children and
not noticing it right away. The other teacher must be frantic by now,
and serve her right for being so careless.

"All right, you may stay with us until we find a policeman--" She
interrupted herself. "Frances, what are you giggling at now?"

"It's Carolyn. She's making faces just like you!"

"Really, Carolyn, that isn't at all nice!"

Carolyn's face altered itself in a hurry, so as to lose any resemblance
to Miss Burton's. "I'm sorry, Miss Burton, I didn't really mean to do
anything wrong."

"Well, I'd like to know how you were brought up, if you don't know that
it's wrong to mimic people to their faces. A big girl like you, too. How
old are you, Carolyn?"

Carolyn shrank, she hoped imperceptibly, by an inch. "I'm two--"

An outburst of shrill laughter. "She's two years old, she's two years
old!"

"I was going to say, I'm _to_welve. Almost, anyway."

"Eleven years old," said Miss Burton. "Old enough to know better."

"I'm sorry, Miss Burton. And honest, Miss Burton, I didn't mean
anything, but I'm studying to be an actress, and I imitate people, like
the actors you see on television--"

"Oh, Miss Burton, please don't make her go home with a policeman. If
she's going to be an actress, I'll bet she'd love to see Curt George!"

"Well, after the way she's behaved, I don't know whether I should let
her. I really don't."

"Please, Miss Burton, it was an accident. I won't do it again."

"All right, if you're good, and cause no trouble. But we still have
plenty of time before seeing Mr. George. It's only two now, and we're
not supposed to go to the lecture hall until four."

"Miss Burton," called Barbara Willman, "do you think he'd give us his
autograph?"

"Now, children, I've warned you about that. You mustn't annoy him. Mr.
George is a famous movie actor, and his time is valuable. It's very kind
of him to offer to speak to us, especially when so many grown-up people
are anxious to hear him, but we mustn't take advantage of his kindness."

"But he likes children, Miss Burton! My big sister read in a movie
magazine where it said he's just crazy about them."

"I know, but--he's not in good health, children. They say he got jungle
fever in Africa, where he was shooting all those lions, and
rhinoceroses, and elephants for his new picture. That's why you mustn't
bother him too much."

"But he looks so big and strong, Miss Burton. It wouldn't hurt him to
sign an autograph!"

"Oh, yes, it would," asserted one little girl. "He shakes. When he has
an attack of fever, his hand shakes."

"Yes, Africa is a dangerous continent, and one never knows how the
dangers will strike one," said Miss Burton complacently. "So we must all
remember how bravely Mr. George is fighting his misfortune, and do our
best not to tire him out."

                   *       *       *       *       *

In the bright light that flooded the afternoon breakfast table, Curt
George's handsome, manly face wore an expression of distress. He groaned
dismally, and muttered, "What a head I've got, what a head. How do you
expect me to face that gang of kids without a drink to pick me up?"

"You've had your drink," said Carol. She was slim, attractive, and
efficient. At the moment she was being more efficient than attractive,
and she could sense his resentment. "That's all you get. Now, lay off,
and try to be reasonably sober, for a change."

"But those kids! They'll squeal and giggle--"

"They're about the only audience in the world that won't spot you as a
drunk. God knows where I could find any one else who'd believe that your
hand shakes because of fever."

"I know that you're looking out for my best interests, Carol. But one
more drink wouldn't hurt me."

She said wearily, but firmly, "I don't argue with drunks, Curt. I just
go ahead and protect them from themselves. No drinks."

"Afterwards?"

"I can't watch you the way a mother watches a child."

The contemptuous reply sent his mind off on a new tack. "You could if we
were married."

"I've never believed in marrying weak characters to reform them."

"But if I proved to you that I could change--"

"Prove it first, and I'll consider your proposal afterwards."

"You certainly are a cold-blooded creature, Carol. But I suppose that in
your profession you have to be."

"Cold, suspicious, nasty--and reliable. It's inevitable when I must deal
with such warm-hearted, trusting, and unreliable clients."

He watched her move about the room, clearing away the dishes from his
meager breakfast. "What are you humming, Carol?"

"Was I humming?"

"I thought I recognized it--_All of Me, Why Not Take All of Me_? That's
it! Your subconscious gives you away. You really want to marry me!"

"A mistake," she said coolly. "My subconscious doesn't know what it's
talking about. All I want of you is the usual ten per cent."

"Can't you forget for a moment that you're an agent, and remember that
you're a woman, too?"

"No. Not unless you forget that you're a drunk, and remember that you're
a man. Not unless you make me forget that you drank your way through
Africa--"

"Because you weren't there with me!"

"--with hardly enough energy to let them dress you in that hunter's
outfit and photograph you as if you were shooting lions."

"You're so unforgiving, Carol. You don't have much use for me, do
you--consciously, that is?"

"Frankly, Curt, no. I don't have much use for useless people."

"I'm not entirely useless. I earn you that ten per cent--"

"I'd gladly forego that to see you sober."

"But it's your contempt for me that drives me to drink. And when I think
of having to face those dear little kiddies with nothing inside me--"

"There should be happiness inside you at the thought of your doing a
good deed. Not a drop, George, not a drop."

                   *       *       *       *       *

The two little girls drew apart from the others and began to whisper
into each other's ears. The whispers were punctuated by giggles which
made the entire childish conversation seem quite normal. But Palit was
in no laughing mood. He said, in his own language, "You're getting
careless, Manto. You had no business imitating her expression."

"I'm sorry, Palit, but it was so suggestive. And I'm a very suggestible
person."

"So am I. But I control myself."

"Still, if the temptation were great enough, I don't think you'd be able
to resist either."

"The issues are important enough to make me resist."

"Still, I thought I saw your own face taking on a bit of her expression
too."

"You are imagining things, Manto. Another thing, that mistake in
starting to say you were two hundred years old--"

"They would have thought it a joke. And I think I got out of that rather
neatly."

"You like to skate on thin ice, don't you, Manto? Just as you did when
you changed your height. You had no business shrinking right out in
public like that."

"I did it skillfully. Not a single person noticed."

"_I_ noticed."

"Don't quibble."

"I don't intend to. Some of these children have very sharp eyes. You'd
be surprised at what they see."

Manto said tolerantly, "You're getting jittery, Palit. We've been away
from home too long."

"I am not jittery in the least. But I believe in taking due care."

"What could possibly happen to us? If we were to announce to the
children and the teacher, and to every one in this zoo, for that matter,
exactly who and what we were, they wouldn't believe us. And even if they
did, they wouldn't be able to act rapidly enough to harm us."

"You never can tell about such things. Wise--people--simply don't take
unnecessary chances."

"I'll grant that you're my superior in such wisdom."

"You needn't be sarcastic, Manto, I _know_ I'm superior. _I_ realize
what a godsend this planet is--you don't. It has the right gravity, a
suitable atmosphere, the proper chemical composition--everything."

"Including a population that will be helpless before us."

"And you would take chances of losing all this."

"Don't be silly, Palit. What chances am I taking?"

"The chance of being discovered. Here we stumble on this place quite by
accident. No one at home knows about it, no one so much as suspects that
it exists. We must get back and report--and you do all sorts of silly
things which may reveal what we are, and lead these people to suspect
their danger."

                   *       *       *       *       *

This time, Manto's giggle was no longer mere camouflage, but expressed
to a certain degree how he felt. "They cannot possibly suspect. We have
been all over the world, we have taken many forms and adapted ourselves
to many customs, and no one has suspected. And even if danger really
threatened, it would be easy to escape. I could take the form of the
school teacher herself, of a policeman, of any one in authority.
However, at present there is not the slightest shadow of danger. So,
Palit, you had better stop being fearful."

Palit said firmly, "Be careful, and I won't be fearful. That's all there
is to it."

"I'll be careful. After all, I shouldn't want us to lose these children.
They're so exactly the kind we need. Look how inquiring they are, how
unafraid, how quick to adapt to any circumstances--"

Miss Burton's voice said, "Good gracious, children, what language _are_
you using? Greek?"

They had been speaking too loud, they had been overheard. Palit and
Manto stared at each other, and giggled coyly. Then, after a second to
think, Palit said, "Onay, Issmay Urtonbay!"

"What?"

Frances shrilled triumphantly, "It isn't Greek, Miss Burton, it's
Latin--Pig-Latin. She said, 'No, Miss Burton.'"

"Good heavens, what is Pig-Latin?"

"It's a kind of way of talking where you talk kind of backwards. Like,
you don't say, _Me_, you say, _Emay_."

"You don't say, _Yes_, you say _Esyay_," added another little girl.

"You don't say, _You_, you say, _Ouyay_. You don't say--"

"All right, all right, I get the idea."

"You don't say--"

"That'll do," said Miss Burton firmly. "Now, let's get along to the lion
house. And please, children, do not make faces at the lions. How would
you like to be in a cage and have people make faces at you? Always
remember to be considerate to others."

"Even lions, Miss Burton?"

"Even lions."

"But Mr. George shot lots of lions. Was he considerate of them too?"

"There is no time for silly questions," said Miss Burton, with the same
firmness. "Come along."

They all trouped after her, Palit and Manto bringing up the rear. Manto
giggled, and whispered with amusement, "That Pig-Latin business was
quick thinking, Palit. But in fact, quite unnecessary. The things that
you do to avoid being suspected!"

"It never hurts to take precautions. And I think that now it is time to
leave."

"No, not yet. You are always anxious to learn details before reporting.
Why not learn a few more details now?"

"Because they are not necessary. We already have a good understanding of
human customs and psychology."

"But not of the psychology of children. And they, if you remember, are
the ones who will have to adapt. We shall be asked about them. It would
be nice if we could report that they are fit for all-purpose service, on
a wide range of planets. Let us stay awhile longer."

"All right," conceded Palit, grudgingly.

                   *       *       *       *       *

So they stayed, and out of some twigs and leaves they shaped the
necessary coins with which to buy peanuts, and popcorn, and ice cream,
and other delicacies favored by the young. Manto wanted to win easy
popularity by treating a few of the other children, but Palit put his
girlish foot down. No use arousing suspicion. Even as it was--

"Gee, your father gives you an awful lot of spending money," said
Frances enviously. "Is he rich?"

"We get as much as we want," replied Manto carelessly.

"Gosh, I wish I did."

Miss Burton collected her brood. "Come together, children, I have
something to say to you. Soon it will be time to go in and hear Mr.
George. Now, if Mr. George is so kind as to entertain us, don't you
think that it's only proper for us to entertain him?"

"We could put on our class play!" yelled Barbara.

"Barbara's a fine one to talk," said Frances. "She doesn't even remember
her lines."

"No, children, we mustn't do anything we can't do well. That wouldn't
make a good impression. And besides, there is no time for a play.
Perhaps Barbara will sing--"

"I can sing a 'Thank You' song," interrupted Frances.

"That would be nice."

"I can recite," added another little girl.

"Fine. How about you, Carolyn? You and your little friend, Doris. Can
she act too?"

Carolyn giggled. "Oh, yes, she can act very well. I can act like people.
She can act like animals." The laughing, girlish eyes evaded a dirty
look from the little friend. "She can act like _any_ kind of animal."

"She's certainly a talented child. But she seems so shy!"

"Oh, no," said Carolyn. "She likes to be coaxed."

"She shouldn't be like that. Perhaps, Carolyn, you and Doris can do
something together. And perhaps, too, Mr. George will be pleased to see
that your teacher also has talent."

"You, Miss Burton?"

Miss Burton coughed modestly. "Yes, children, I never told you, but I
was once ambitious to be an actress too. I studied dramatics, and
really, I was quite good at it. I was told that if I persevered I might
actually be famous. Just think, your teacher might actually have been a
famous actress! However, in my day, there were many coarse people on the
stage, and the life of the theater was not attractive--but perhaps we'd
better not speak of that. At any rate, I know the principles of the
dramatic art very well."

                   *       *       *       *       *

"God knows what I'll have to go through," said Curt. "And I don't see
how I can take it sober."

"I don't see how they can take you drunk," replied Carol.

"Why go through with it at all? Why not call the whole thing quits?"

"Because people are depending on you. You always want to call quits
whenever you run into something you don't like. You may as well call
quits to your contract if that's the way you feel."

"And to your ten per cent, darling."

"You think I'd mind that. I work for my ten per cent, Curt, sweetheart.
I work too damn hard for that ten per cent."

"You can marry me and take it easy. Honest, Carol, if you treated me
better, if you showed me I meant something to you, I'd give up
drinking."

She made a face. "Don't talk nonsense. Take your outfit, and let's get
ready to go. Unless you want to change here, and walk around dressed as
a lion hunter."

"Why not? I've walked around dressed as worse. A drunk."

"Drunks don't attract attention. They're too ordinary."

"But a drunken lion hunter--that's something special." He went into the
next room and began to change. "Carol," he called. "Do you like me?"

"At times."

"Would you say that you liked me very much?"

"When you're sober. Rarely."

"Love me?"

"Once in a blue moon."

"What would I have to do for you to want to marry me?"

"Amount to something."

"I like that. Don't you think I amount to something now? Women swoon at
the sight of my face on the screen, and come to life again at the sound
of my voice."

"The women who swoon at you will swoon at anybody. Besides, I don't
consider that making nitwits swoon is a useful occupation for a real
man."

"How can I be useful, Carol? No one ever taught me how."

"Some people manage without being taught."

"I suppose I could think how if I had a drink inside me."

"Then you'll have to do without thinking."

He came into the room again, powerful, manly, determined-looking. There
was an expression in his eye which indicated courage without end, a
courage that would enable him to brave the wrath of man, beast, or
devil.

"How do I look?"

"Your noble self, of course. A poor woman's edition of Rudolph
Valentino."

"I feel terrified. I don't know how I'm going to face those kids. If
they were boys it wouldn't be so bad, but a bunch of little girls!"

"They'll grow up to be your fans, if you're still alive five years from
now. Meanwhile, into each life some rain must fall."

"You would talk of water, when you know how I feel."

"Sorry. Come on, let's go."

                   *       *       *       *       *

The lecture hall resounded with giggles. And beneath the giggles was a
steady undercurrent of whispers, of girlish confidences exchanged, of
girlish hopes that would now be fulfilled. Miss Burton's class was not
the only one which had come to hear the famous actor-hunter describe his
brave exploits. There were at least five others like it, and by some
mistake, a class of boys, who also whispered to each other, in manly
superiority, and pretended to find amusement in the presence of so many
of the fairer sex.

In this atmosphere of giggles and whispers, Manto and Palit could
exchange confidences without being noticed. Palit said savagely, "Why
did you tell her that I could act too?"

"Why, because it's the truth. You're a very good animal performer. You
make a wonderful dragon, for instance. Go on, Palit, show her what a
fine dragon you can--"

"Stop it, you fool, before you cause trouble!"

"Very well, Palit. Did I tempt you?"

"Did you tempt me! You and your sense of humor!"

"You and your lack of it! But let's not argue now, Palit. Here, I think,
comes the lion-hunter. Let's scream, and be as properly excited as every
one else is."

                   *       *       *       *       *

My God, he thought, how can they keep their voices so high so long? My
eardrums hurt already. How do they stand a lifetime of it? Even an hour?

"Go ahead," whispered Carol. "You've seen the script--go into your act.
Tell them what a hero you are. You have the odds in your favor to start
with."

"My lovely looks," he said, with some bitterness.

"Lovely is the word for you. But forget that. If you're good--you'll get
a drink afterwards."

"Will it be one of those occasions when you love me?"

"If the moon turns blue."

He strode to the front of the platform, an elephant gun swinging easily
at his side, an easy grin radiating from his confident, rugged face. The
cheers rose to a shrill fortissimo, but the grin did not vanish. What a
great actor he really was, he told himself, to be able to pretend he
liked this.

An assistant curator of some collection in the zoo, a flustered old
woman, was introducing him. There were a few laudatory references to his
great talents as an actor, and he managed to look properly modest as he
listened. The remarks about his knowledge of wild and ferocious beasts
were a little harder to take, but he took them. Then the old woman
stepped back, and he was facing his fate alone.

"Children," he began. A pause, a bashful grin. "Perhaps I should rather
say, my friends. I'm not one to think of you as children. Some people
think of me as a child myself, because I like to hunt, and have
adventures. They think that such things are childish. But if they are,
I'm glad to be a child. I'm glad to be one of you. Yes, I think I _will_
call you my friends.

"Perhaps you regard me, my friends, as a very lucky person. But when I
recall some of the narrow escapes I have had, I don't agree with you. I
remember once, when we were on the trail of a rogue elephant--"

He told the story of the rogue elephant, modestly granting a co-hero's
role to his guide. Then another story illustrating the strange ways of
lions. The elephant gun figured in still another tale, this time of a
vicious rhinoceros. His audience was quiet now, breathless with
interest, and he welcomed the respite from shrillness he had won for his
ears.

"And now, my friends, it is time to say farewell." He actually looked
sad and regretful. "But it is my hope that I shall be able to see you
again--"

Screams of exultation, shrill as ever, small hands beating
enthusiastically to indicate joy. Thank God that's over with, he
thought. Now for those drinks--and he didn't mean drink, singular. Talk
of being useful, he'd certainly been useful now. He'd made those kids
happy. What more can any reasonable person want?

                   *       *       *       *       *

But it wasn't over with. Another old lady had stepped up on the
platform.

"Mr. George," she said, in a strangely affected voice, like that of the
first dramatic teacher he had ever had, the one who had almost ruined
his acting career. "Mr. George, I can't tell you how happy you have made
us all, young and old. Hasn't Mr. George made us happy, children?"

"Yes, Miss Burton!" came the shrill scream.

"And we feel that it would be no more than fair to repay you in some
small measure for the pleasure you have given us. First, a 'Thank You'
song by Frances Heller--"

He hadn't expected this, and he repressed a groan. Mercifully, the first
song was short. He grinned the thanks he didn't feel. To think that he
could take this, while sober as a judge! What strength of character,
what will-power!

Next, Miss Burton introduced another kid, who recited. And then, Miss
Burton stood upright and recited herself.

That was the worst of all. He winced once, then bore up. You can get
used even to torture, he told himself. An adult making a fool of herself
is always more painful than a kid. And that affected elocutionist's
voice gave him the horrors. But he thanked her too. His good deed for
the day. Maybe Carol would have him now, he thought.

A voice shrilled, "Miss Burton?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Aren't you going to call on Carolyn to act?"

"Oh, yes, I was forgetting. Come up here, Carolyn, come up, Doris.
Carolyn and Doris, Mr. George, are studying how to act. They act people
_and_ animals. Who knows? Some day they, too, may be in the movies, just
as you are, Mr. George. Wouldn't that be nice, children?"

What the devil do you do in a case like that? You grin, of course--but
what do you say, without handing over your soul to the devil? Agree how
nice it would be to have those sly little brats with faces magnified on
every screen all over the country? Like hell you do.

"Now, what are we going to act, children?"

"Please, Miss Burton," said Doris. "I don't know how to act. I can't
even imitate a puppy. Really I can't, Miss Burton--"

"Come, come, mustn't be shy. Your friend says that you act very nicely
indeed. Can't want to go on the stage and still be shy. Now, do you know
any movie scenes? Shirley Temple used to be a good little actress, I
remember. Can you do any scenes that she does?"

                   *       *       *       *       *

The silence was getting to be embarrassing. And Carol said he didn't
amount to anything, he never did anything useful. Why, if thanks to his
being here this afternoon, those kids lost the ambition to go on the
stage, the whole human race would have cause to be grateful to him. To
him, and to Miss Burton. She'd kill ambition in anybody.

Miss Burton had an idea. "I know what to do, children. If you can act
animals--Mr. George has shown you what the hunter does; you show him
what the lions do. Yes, Carolyn and Doris, you're going to be lions. You
are waiting in your lairs, ready to pounce on the unwary hunter. Crouch
now, behind that chair. Closer and closer he comes--you act it out, Mr.
George, please, that's the way--ever closer, and now your muscles
tighten for the spring, and you open your great, wide, red mouths in a
great, great big roar--"

A deep and tremendous roar, as of thunder, crashed through the
auditorium. A roar--and then, from the audience, an outburst of
terrified screaming such as he had never heard. The bristles rose at the
back of his neck, and his heart froze.

Facing him across the platform were two lions, tensed as if to leap.
Where they had come from he didn't know, but there they were, eyes
glaring, manes ruffled, more terrifying than any he had seen in Africa.
There they were, with the threat of death and destruction in their
fierce eyes, and here he was, terror and helplessness on his handsome,
manly, and bloodless face, heart unfrozen now and pounding fiercely,
knees melting, hands--

Hands clutching an elephant gun. The thought was like a director's
command. With calm efficiency, with all the precision of an actor
playing a scene rehearsed a thousand times, the gun leaped to his
shoulder, and now its own roar thundered out a challenge to the roaring
of the wild beasts, shouted at them in its own accents of barking
thunder.

The shrill screaming continued long after the echoes of the gun's speech
had died away. Across the platform from him were two great bodies, the
bodies of lions, and yet curiously unlike the beasts in some ways, now
that they were dead and dissolving as if corroded by some invisible
acid.

Carol's hand was on his arm, Carol's thin and breathless voice shook as
she said, "A drink--all the drinks you want."

"One will do. And you."

"And me. I guess you're kind of--kind of useful after all."


[Transcriber's Note:

This e-text was produced from Space Science Fiction February 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright
on this publication was renewed.]





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