Prescott stood to make a young fortune if
he could capture a martian zloor—dead or alive!
Was there a catch to it? Only for the hunter!...
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
January 1954
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I was sitting on the cot in the little room at the rear of myhangarage, where I keep my equipment and most of my trophies, andcleaning my .257 Roberts when the knock came at the door. It was asharp, decisive knock. Then the door opened and I saw Westley Marks forthe first time. It didn't excite me.
He said, "Mr. Napoleon Prescott?"
I began to say, "Everybody calls me Nap," but then I didn't. There wassomething about this guy that didn't click with me. Say what you willagainst snap judgments, I still take my love at first sight and enmityoften the same way.
For one thing, he gave me the impression of looking for trouble;he was about six foot two and he had what he obviously thought wasan aristocratic face. His nose was the type that used to be calledRoman—and looked like it'd be a honey to punch. He was dressed like amillion, which didn't particularly impress me either. I'm on the ruggedside myself, red headed and homely to boot.
He took in the rifle I was cleaning, and his eyebrows went upquestioningly. "Collector?" he asked. Somehow or other he managed toput over the impression that he thought I didn't have the intellect tohave a hobby.
"Not exactly," I told him. "This is a tool, not a collector's item."
There was almost a laugh in his voice now. "You mean you use that relicin your work?"
I put the gun down, told myself to take it easy, then said, "They'vemade a lot of developments in weapons since this rifle was popular, butit still has advantages on certain types of jobs. For instance, if Iwas after a Kodiac bear, up in the Alaska National Park—"
He snorted, "I'd take a Bazook-rifle and be sure who came out on top."
"Sure you would," I told him, "and there wouldn't be enough bear leftto feed your dogs. I usually work for a zoo or a museum; they eitherwant the animal alive, or in good mounting condition. I admit thatthey've got guns now that one man can carry that'd sink one of the oldtime battleships; okay, but in my line I seldom need one."
He didn't like my tone of voice, but he dropped the point and beganlooking around for a place to sit.
I hadn't asked him to sit down, and I didn't now.
I said, "Was there something I could do for you?"
"I wanted to hire you for a rather lengthy period," he told me.
"I'm all booked up for the next six months."
"This is something rather special."
"It always is when somebody wants you to cancel a job with a regularclient."
He didn't like me any better than I liked him, that was obvious. Hesaid, "This comes under the heading of work for the government."
I told him, "There are other professional hunters. Some of them nearlyas good as I am." The last was sarcastic.
"Possibly better," he said, "but none of them are your size."
I could feel my face approaching the color of my hair at that one."Keep my size out of it," I snapped. I indicated with a thumb a littlestatuette on my desk. "The guy my mother named me after was pint sizetoo. He got along all right."
He looked over at Bonaparte. "Ummm," he said. "Napoleon was a big nameonce—but he's only a bust now."
"Listen," I told him, "you're asking for a bust yourself. Why don't yourun along? I'm busy."
He ignored me