Out of the caves of space it flew—huge, rapacious,
terrifying. But Lou Flint met its vicious challenge
happily. For, like the girl at his side,
it was worth one million dollars!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Winter 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The jungle was filled with the shouts of the hunters and the sounds oftheir heavy boots crashing through the dry sword grass. The long lineof men were running shoulder to shoulder, stooping under the red vines,stumbling over the mossy rocks.
Bounding ahead in panic surged hundreds of animals of a strangespecies. Shaped like deer, they had no antlers and their delicatebodies were covered with rich greenish-gold feathers. Eyes large withterror, feathers ruffled, they stampeded through the entrance of acorral that was so well camouflaged it was almost invisible in thetangled plants and tree trunks.
In a corner of the corral, shadowed from the late afternoon sun, atall, bare-chested young man waited motionless as an ironwood tree,watching the animals stream toward him. His only clothing was a pair offaded khaki shorts and soft leather boots. Strapped to his waist was aleather holster containing a heavy pistol, its thick barrel shaped likea flashlight. His ruggedly handsome face was angry, his gray eyes coldas he watched the animals futilely leaping at the surrounding fence.
Suddenly the hunters broke through the screening jungle. Their leaderbellowed, "Okay! Bash their heads in! Let's get their hides off!"
The other men advanced toward the herd of frenzied animals, clubsraised. The leader swung his own stick down toward one of the creaturesthat tried to race past him.
Instantly the ironwood tree came to life. His hand was one blurredmotion as it jerked his odd-shaped pistol from its holster, squeezedthe trigger. A silver streak flashed from the barrel, struck the man'sarm before the club could fall. His arm froze in mid-swing.
"Drop those sticks and get off this planetoid!" As the bare-chestedone came out of the shadows, his voice had virtually the force of hisweapon.
The men stood with clubs half-raised, staring at him. "It's Lou Flint,"one of them whispered.
"Watch him! That's an ice-ray pistol!" They lowered their clubs slowly,glancing toward their leader.
The big fellow rubbed his rigid right arm with his other hand. It stuckout before him at a grotesque angle; he couldn't move it yet. As helooked at Flint his eyes were deadly. "Don't stick your nose in thisbusiness, trapper." His thick lips curled. "You don't own this land."
"I'm sticking my nose into any business that kills off a thousandfeather-deer in two weeks," Lou Flint said. "I've seen enough of yourbutchering."
The big man's stiffened arm suddenly dropped back to his side,perfectly normal again. An ice-ray's harmless effect lasted only aminute—but while it lasted it was a potent weapon. "You're a bigtalker with that gun in your hand."
In answer, Flint dropped the pistol at his feet. The other glanced athis men, saw them waiting for his next move. He strode forward. Flintwaited solidly before him, fists on his hips. "You aren't leaving?""Nope." Then quick as a snake the fellow bent, tried to scoop up thepistol. Flint was quicker. His fist plowed into the man's chin. Theblow lifted him up on his toes, sent him stumbling backward till hecrumpled silently to the ground. "Anybody else got any arguments?"Flint asked, looking toward the others. Nobody had. "Then get off thisplanetoid. If I catch you here again I'm going to send your hidesback to your filthy fur boss."
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