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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..691a4e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66759 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66759) diff --git a/old/66759-0.txt b/old/66759-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 067990e..0000000 --- a/old/66759-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1116 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of We Run From the Hunted!, by Darius John -Granger - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: We Run From the Hunted! - -Author: Darius John Granger - -Release Date: November 17, 2021 [eBook #66759] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE RUN FROM THE HUNTED! *** - - - - - We Run From The Hunted! - - By Darius John Granger - - Running a hunting camp on Venus appeared - to be a good deal. But like any business, you - had to attract customers--and maybe a Wompan! - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy - August 1956 - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -I dabbed at the nick on my jaw with a towel and said, "Ouch! Do you -always have to read to me when I'm shaving?" - -"Shaving," Harry Conger scoffed. "That's just it, shaving. Why can't -you use dipilator, like ordinary people? What do you expect when you -use an archaic razor?" - -"I happen to like the feel of a razor." - -"Well, it's the same with .30-.30 rifles instead of blasters," Harry -said, still riding me. "The best the twenty-first century has to offer -isn't good enough for you. Oh, no." He shoved the accumulation of -unpaid bills in front of my face while I put the razor away and asked -me, "What do you expect to pay these with--twentieth century coin of -the realm?" - -"O.K.," I said. "Lay off. So we happen to be a little behind in a few -payments." - -"A _few_ payments. We haven't had a customer yet, Gil. Not even one -single, slightly jaded Earthman. No one." - -"I still think 'Venus on the Half Shell' is a good idea," I said -stubbornly. - -Harry shook his head. "Good for the bill collectors. Good for the -native bearers, who we've been feeding ever since we opened this joint. -Good for the washed up big-game hunter living off what little fat there -is in our land, but not good for us. If we only had one customer--just -one...." - -"Look out the window," I said, trying to be cheerful. "Venus. Raw. -Primitive. Wild. Thirty million miles from civilization. A hunter's -paradise. And we're the guys who can serve Venus up to our customers -on the half shell. Hunting. Nature-watching. Just loafing. They can -name it--we've got it." - -"You mean we've had it," Harry said gloomily, shaking the fistful of -bills. "Hell, Gil. It isn't only that. We haven't paid the bearers -yet--not that they've had to bear anything. We haven't even paid -what's-his-name, the hunter. All he does is drink our whiskey. Why -don't you admit it, Gil? Venus on the Half Shell is all washed up and -we might as well go back to Earth while we still have the fare." - -I grinned. "Do we still have the fare?" - -"Well, if we sell some of your antique firearms--" - -"Sell them?" I cried. "But they're the only way to hunt, Harry. You -know that. They're the real way to hunt. It's no contest with a -blaster--the local fauna don't have a chance." - -"If we just had one customer." - -"A little while longer, Harry," I pleaded. "You're right. All we need -is one customer, just to spread the word. We've got a virgin paradise -for hunters here and--" - -"I've heard that song before." - -"Well," I said stubbornly, "it's the truth." - -Just then someone knocked at the door. Harry and I shared a small cabin -in the Venus on the Half Shell stockade. It wasn't much of a cabin and -it doubled as office and sleeping quarters. A knock on the door meant -either the leader of the Venusians or Talbot Kramer, our has-been -hunter who so far had been content to sit around drinking our whiskey. - - * * * * * - -I opened the door. It was Talbot Kramer, complete with week's growth -of beard, red-rimmed eyes, mouldly, swamp-smelling clothing and a -man-sized scowl. - -"Natives are through," he said, and laughed. It may have meant a lot to -me and Harry, but it meant nothing to him. - -"Through?" I said. "What the hell did they quit for?" - -"Wompan," Kramer said. - -"Which?" Harry asked him. - -"Wompan," I repeated. I was excited. "Don't you know what a Wompan is?" - -"Not me," Harry said. "Guess I was too busy studying unpaid bills. -What's a Wompan?" - -"I quit too," Talbot Kramer said suddenly. "You can't expect a hunter -to hang around when the bearers have quit on you. Not anyways, with a -Wompan around camp." - -"Will somebody please tell me," Harry begged, "what a Wompan is?" - -"I'll take the swamp-buggy," Kramer said, getting ready to go outside. - -"The hell you will," Harry and I both said together. - -"Listen. You guys owe me some wages. I know you don't have the cash, -but I'm not complaining. I'll take the swamp-buggy. Hell, its the only -way out of here anyways." - -"Some friend," said Harry. "We won't have any way out ourselves. We'll -be trapped in this damn swamp." - -"Trapped?" Kramer said incredulously. "Did you say trapped? It's your -place of business. There's all the food you need--in the swamp. What's -your hurry to leave? Besides, Mr. Gil Roberts here told himself: one -of these days you're going to get a lot of rich customers coming in -with their own spaceships. Well, got to be going now." - -We went outside with him and over to the squat, ugly shape of the -swamp-buggy. The treads were a foot deep in mud, a normal state of -affairs for the swamp-buggy. It would run, though. It would take Talbot -Kramer, ex big-game hunter with a reputation and not much else, back to -an outpost of civilization. And leave us without a guide if we ever got -any customers. - -"If you give us a little time," I said as Kramer climbed into the buggy -through the roof hatch. - -"Sorry, boys," he said, smelling of our liquor. "There was a letter for -me on this week's mail rocket. A job in Kenya." - -"Kenya, Africa, Earth?" I said, as if I were addressing a letter. - -"That's right," Kramer said, lowering himself through the hatch. In a -moment the swamp-buggy shuddered and made growling noises and shook -itself clear of the mud. Out of habit, Harry and I waved as the buggy -churned across a hundred feet of thick mud and moved ponderously toward -the stockade gate. We stood there and watched the buggy fade into the -green twilight swamps of Venus. It was very hot out there in the -open and Harry and I were drenched with sweat before the sound of the -buggy's motor faded entirely. - -"A hunter's paradise," Harry said. - -"Aw, lay off," I told him. - -Nearby, the buggy suddenly roared again, its motor racing. - -"Is he coming back?" Harry asked hopefully. - -"It wasn't the buggy," I said. - -"Are you kidding. I'd know that motor anywhere. She needs a valve job -like we need customers." - -"That," I said without smiling, "was the Wompan." - -"You're joking." - -"I wish I was," I said, closing the gate. - -"It sounded just like the swamp-buggy." - -"I know. Probably looks like it too--for now." - -"Are you nuts?" - -"Why do you think the natives ran away--and Kramer too. Wompan's deadly -dangerous game." - -"So stop smiling about it." - -"I think it's funny," I said, "being left alone like this. You know -what Wompan means in the Ringin dialect?" - -Harry said he did not. - -"It means, mimic." - -"Oh," Harry said. He seemed relieved. "You mean it can imitate -sounds--like the swamp-buggy's motor?" - -"Yeah," I said. "It can imitate sounds. And other things. It can look -like a swamp-buggy or the video star Laura Laurene or maybe Talbot -Kramer or even you. It's a mimic." - -"What does it look like in real life?" - -"No one ever saw one in real life. Only in real death." - -"Very funny." - -"No. I mean it, Harry. The Wompan assumes its own shape when its -killed. If it's killed because that's rare. Then it looks like a -shapeless, jelly-like mass of protoplasm." - -"Then what's so dangerous about it?" - -"It can mime anything. A swamp-buggy. A man. A blaster." - -"A blaster?" - -"It can make like a blaster and blast the hell out of you," I said. "It -can make like a beautiful woman and then strangle you when you're at -your weakest. It can--" - -"Did you lock the gate?" Harry asked. I felt a little sorry for him. -Maybe I'm no Frank Buck, but Harry wasn't cut out for the frontier at -all. - -I told him I locked it. We went back to the cabin and had lunch out -of cans. When we were working on a dessert of canned peaches, the -spaceship came down. - - * * * * * - -I beat Harry outside by three steps. The spaceship, a small sportster, -sank, on its keel tubes in the mud. It would be a devil of a job -getting her airborne again, but we would worry about that later. - -I looked at Harry. Harry looked at me. "Customers?" I said in a small -voice. - -Harry said, "I don't believe it." - -We stood with our backs to the Venus on the Half Shell sign running -across the upper part of the cabin wall and waited. After a little -while the small sportster's hatch swung out. We squinted at it through -Venus' dazzling white sunless daylight and waited. - -A head popped up. Big head with a mane of white hair and pink cheeks -and some loose extra chins and a strong jaw and a small red flower of -a mouth. Below the head was expensive sports clothing. Very expensive. -All suede and linen and the latest hunting styles you see in the -catalogues. He looked like a million bucks worth of something out of a -Spaceman's magazine. He snapped his fingers and said, "Boy! Our bags." - -Harry looked at me again. I looked at Harry. I placed the flat of my -hand against the small of his back and pushed. He went stumbling across -the mud toward the sportster spaceship. When he got there he managed to -say, "I'll take your bags, sir." - -"I'll set up your tent, sir," I said. - -"Tent?" the man in the sportster repeated. "Your classified ad in -Spaceman's didn't say anything about a tent." - -"That's Venus on the Half Shell," I said. "Outdoor living. Venus as -Venus is to the natives. But it's perfectly safe, sir. - -"We have a stockade, as you can see." - -"I don't know about any tent or roughing it," the sportsman boomed. - -"Well," I said. - -"Game running good?" he asked. - -"The best," I said. "A blind man could bag the legal limit of roupas -and konees and jukets and ferzes in an afternoon." - -"Better hope it takes longer'n that, son," the sportsman boomed again. -"Didn't come all the way to Venus for an afternoon's walk in the woods." - -"Walk in the woods," I said, nudging Harry who had come back staggering -under the weight of several suitcases. "Walk in the woods." - -"Yes?" the sportsman said. - -"What I mean is, there's man-sized hunting around here. Really -man-sized, sir." - -"Daughter's with me," he said, wet-blanketing whatever sales pitch I -might have made. "Hope we haven't made a mistake. Could have gone on to -Venus Joe's. I know Venus Joe's. But I liked your ad in Spaceman's. I -always go by ads in Spaceman's. Know why?" - -"No," I said, shaking my head. - -"I'm Jason Woods Stevenson," he said, swinging his two-hundred pounds -of hard sportsman muscle down the hatch and walking athletically across -the swamp toward me. - -"Jason Woods Stevenson," I said, then suddenly ran forward to pump his -hand vigorously. Jason Woods Stevenson! If he liked it here at Venus on -the Half Shell, Harry and I had it made. Because Jason Woods Stevenson -was the outdoor editor of Spaceman's magazine--and Sportsmen all over -the solar system waited breathlessly each month for him to pontificate -on some new out-of-the-way sportsman's paradise. If he passed on Venus -on the Half Shell, we'd be swamped with business. - -"Don't see any native trackers around," Jason W. Stevenson said after -shaking my hand with a grip that almost broke the finger bones. "Have -them outside?" - -"Well, the truth is--" I said. - -"Is what?" - -"The trackers went back to their tribe." - -"Went back? What about your hunters? Are you boys the hunters too?" - -I couldn't tell him about Talbot Kramer walking out on us. If I told -him that, I knew he would climb right back into his sportster and head -on to Venus Joe's. Venus Joe's which had started with fifty times the -capital Harry and I had had, was doing well enough. But if Spaceman's -magazine gave them a plug and said nothing about us, we really were -through. I knew it and Harry coming back from the tent platform knew it -and we didn't have to say it out loud. - -"Yes," I told Mr. Stevenson. "We're the guides too." - -"Experienced?" - -"We know Venus as well as anyone," I said, which wasn't exactly a lie -since no one, not even the Extra-terrestrial geographic Survey, had -been able to draw an accurate map of Venus yet. - - * * * * * - -Mr. Stevenson seemed very doubtful. "Well, boys, I don't know. No hard -feelings, you understand. If I was alone it might be different. But my -daughter's here. She's not exactly a delicate item now, boys, but she's -no big-game hunter, either. If it was a cabin instead of a tent and if -you had bearers and trackers--" - -"You can have our cabin!" Harry cried desperately. - -"Well, I don't know, boys." - -I gave Harry one of those desperate stares. Harry returned it to me, -saying without words that he had no further ideas either. I could see -our last chance--a favorable write-up in Spaceman's magazine--going up -in smoke. Mr. Stevenson started back toward his sportster and said, - -"I'll say I stopped here on the way to Venus Joe's, boys. I'll say the -place looked--ah, primitive. How's that? Primitive, I'll say. For real -outdoorsmen." - -"Damning with faint praise," Harry whispered to me fiercely. "Gil, -you've got to do something." - -I nodded. My head was suddenly as empty of ideas as the space -between galaxies is empty of stars. I followed Mr. Stevenson back -to the sportster and watched him boost himself up toward the hatch -athletically and lower his two-hundred pounds in with the grace of a -cat. When his head had disappeared but before the hatch banged shut I -said: - -"Wompan." - -The head re-appeared. "What did you say, boy?" - -"I said, Wompan." - -"Here? Wompan here?" - -"Yes, sir. Positively." - -"I never caught a Wompan," Mr. Stevenson said. "Only three men ever -have." - -"That's right," I said. - -"If I could write it up for Spaceman's magazine--assuming I catch -one--we'd increase our circulation half a million copies." - -"You'll catch one," I promised. - -Jason Woods Stevenson beamed on me. "Oh, to hell with Spaceman's. I -want to catch one because I never have. I've caught everything on Earth -that the law lets you catch, boys. I was up at Venus Joe's last year -and took the legal limit of everything but Wompan. Never even saw a -Wompan. Boys," he said, "you've got yourself a customer." - -He came down again and strode quickly across the quadrangle toward the -wood platform which would serve as the foundation of his tent, keeping -it above the ooze and mud. He was whistling cheerfully and he smiled -again, the grin bisecting his face from ear to ear. If he had anything -on his mind besides Wompan--it was Wompan skin. Whatever Wompan skin -looked like. - -"Aren't you forgetting something, sir?" Harry said. - -"I don't think so, boys. Am I?" - -Harry nodded. "Your daughter?" he said. - -Mr. Stevenson's jaw dropped a foot. "The girl!" he cried. "I almost -forgot about her." He wasn't smiling now. "If her mother ever learned -I took her to a place like this, with absolutely no civilized -conveniences...." - -"But with Wompan," I said. - -He sighed. "Ginger!" he called. "You can come on out now, Ginger honey." - -Harry and I waited for Ginger to make her appearance. After a decent -interval she came gracefully out of the hatch. She was young and -red-haired and pretty. She was built the way a girl ought to be built -and she had a million dollar smile. The smile was for Harry Conger. -Right away she liked Harry. She was nice enough to me in a spoiled -little rich girl way, but Harry, was, as they say, her cup of tea. She -went walking off with him toward the stockade to get her first lesson -in Venusian fauna while Mr. Stevenson and I pitched their tent. - -I was just as glad Ginger had decided Harry was for her, if either -of us had to be. I had too much to think about. Such as Jason Woods -Stevenson and Spaceman's magazine. Such as what a Wompan could or could -not be expected to do when hunted. Such as our last chance to make good -here on Venus. Let Harry have the lovelife, I'd try to keep Venus on -the Half Shell solvent. - - * * * * * - -That night after supper Mr. Stevenson and Ginger turned in early in -preparation for our first sally the next day. Harry gaped and gazed and -wandered around the stockade, moonstruck. - -"Hey, snap out it," I said. - -"Lovely girl," he said. - -"Lovely old man in charge of the outdoor section of Spaceman's -magazine," I said. - -"Got a smile could melt the night side of Pluto." - -"Wompan," I said. "Remember?" - -"You can handle it, Gil old boy." - -"I don't know if both of us, working together as hard as we ever worked -in our lives, can handle it. But we have to try. We have to be on our -toes, Harry. Are you with me?" - -"Did you see how Ginger's whole face lights up when she smiles?" - -"Harry," I pleaded. "We have a book inside. It isn't much, but it tells -everything anybody knows about a Wompan. What they do. How they kill -people. How to capture them, if they can be captured. Harry, we're -no hunters. Since Wompan is the solar system's most dangerous game, -wouldn't you say that puts us at a slight disadvantage? Wouldn't you, -Harry old boy?" - -"She's really got a sense of humor too, Gil. For a rich kid, she's -simple and unaffected and--" - -"Let's go inside and look at that Wompan book." - -"I'll be along in a while." He waved at air. He wasn't looking at me. -He wasn't thinking about Wompans or even Venus on the Half Shell. He -was six thousand parsecs away and still running. I sighed and went -inside. I burned the midnight oil learning what there was to learn -about Wompans. - -In the morning it was raining. Harry didn't seem to care. He had that -moonstruck grin on his face and I was sure the Stevensons, father and -daughter, noticed it. They were too polite to say anything about it, -though, and Ginger Stevenson did seem friendly toward Harry. - -"Do we try it in the rain?" Jason Woods Stevenson asked me. He wore -a poncho which covered him .30-.30 rifle and all. He looked like a -small tent with a head on top, but it was practical. Ginger wore a -transparent raincoat which showed her nice sports clothing and nicer -figure. It wasn't practical, but Ginger was a girl. - -"Yes, sir," I said. "We try it in the rain." - -And off we marched to find ourselves a Wompan. - - * * * * * - -We tried it in the rain. We tried it in the dazzling white Venusian -daylight. We tried at dawn and we tried at dusk. We tried every way it -said to try in the book, but we didn't find any Wompan. - -Twelve days went by that way. Mr. Stevenson had already told us his -limit was fourteen days. I got glummer and glummer, but not Harry. If I -asked Harry what a Wompan was, he probably would have shrugged and said -it wasn't important. Harry was still moonstruck and the nicest part of -it from Harry's point of view was this: Ginger was moonstruck too. - -Mr. Stevenson, though, grew desperate. Not about Ginger and Harry--he -didn't seem to mind. About the Wompan. He wanted one. If you have ever -known a sportsman after particular game, you will understand. He had -to get a Wompan. I knew how he felt: we _had_ to stay in business. No -other animal would do and--although it wasn't our fault--I knew that -if Mr. Stevenson didn't get himself a Wompan, Venus on the Half Shell -would not be saved by a big, many-paged spread in Spaceman's magazine. - -On the thirteenth day, Mr. Stevenson said, "Going tomorrow. Early in -the morning. This is our last try, Gil." - -"I know that, sir," I said. - -"Before we start, thought I'd kick over the sportster's engine. Don't -want last minute trouble, you know." - -"Yes, sir," I said. He climbed inside the small spaceship and kicked -her over. He climbed down, satisfied. The rocket engine had purred like -a kitten. - -And purred again--outside the stockade! - -I jumped about a mile and came down feeling light as a feather. There -couldn't be another sportster in the vicinity. Certainly not. I knew -it and so did Mr. Stevenson, who had studied our little book about the -Wompan. - -"Wompan," he said, looking at me. - -I nodded and we went for the rifles. - -Ginger had a short-barreled light-kicking Mannlicher, Harry and I -carried Springfields and Mr. Stevenson had a big Marlin Magnum .375. -We had enough firepower to stop anything the Venusian swamps offered -unless something--such as a Wompan--stopped us first. - -"Let's go out there," Mr. Stevenson said, loading a clip of ammo into -the Marlin's magazine and ramming a single shell into the breech. - -I led the way, followed single file by Mr. Stevenson, Ginger and Harry -in that order. We went less than a hundred yards and could no longer -see the stockade behind us. Venusian swamp jungle was like that. It -was strangely quiet, though. We noticed that at once--the usual small -jungle noises were still, as if waiting, watching.... - -"The Wompan," I whispered. "He's here, sir." - -"How can you be sure?" - -"Listen...." - -"You mean the quiet?" - -"The animals know he's here. Instinctively, they fear him. They won't -make a sound because if they do, he'll have them. He can mime the sound -of any life form and when he does that, he has them." - -"He has them how?" Mr. Stevenson asked in a tight, anxious whisper. - -"By pretending to be one of them and killing them when they don't -expect it." - -"I see. And we--" - -"Keep on the lookout," I said. "And don't separate. As long as we stay -together, sir, all four of us, we're safe." - -We had come a couple of hundred yards from the stockade. Unless you -knew the way back, though, it could have been a couple of hundred -miles. Some of the bogs could be treacherous, too. - - * * * * * - -I went knee-deep in the muck and pulled my feet out. The mud made -sucking sounds against the rubber of my boots. Something touched my -shoulder and I whirled--but it was only Mr. Stevenson. - -"Where are they?" he said. - -Ginger and Harry were gone. - -I swore. I called Harry every name in the book, but it didn't help. -Hell, he had had ample time to be alone with Ginger. Of all the fool -stunts-- - -"You'd better find them, Roberts, and find them now," Mr. Stevenson -said, his voice flat and cold. "That's my little girl he has out there." - -I nodded grimly and we went back along the trail a slow step at a -time, trying to pierce the green twilight gloom on either side. The -jungle was very quiet--deadly quiet. Wompan quiet. The animals told us -soundlessly. The Wompan was nearby. - -"Harry?" I called. - -"Can you chance it?" Mr. Stevenson whispered. - -"I've got to." - -We went back slowly, at a crawl. We covered twenty yards. Thirty. There -was nothing. - -"Harry," I called. "Harry?" - -Mr. Stevenson's hand gripped my shoulder. He pointed. "What's that out -there?" - -I looked where he had pointed. Creepers and lianas and thick -fern-brakes obscured my view. I couldn't see a thing. - -"Out there," he said again. - -I could see perhaps five yards, no more. It was utterly silent. It was -also hot and humid as it always is in the Venusian swamps. My khakis -clung to me with sweat. - -"I still can't see a thing," I said. He pointed a third time. I stared -and saw nothing and was about to say so when something struck the side -of my head just above the ear. - -I staggered off into the fern-brake and sat down. I was groggy and I -didn't know what had hit me. There still wasn't a sound in the jungle. -When I brought my hand up to my ear and brought it away again, it was -red and wet and glistening with blood. I turned around slowly, stiffly-- - -Jason Woods Stevenson stood there in the fern-brake. He looked -gigantic. He lifted the big Marlin Magnum .375 over his head and -brought it down, butt-first. I rolled over and away and the big rifle -struck half a foot from my head. Several inches of the rifle were -buried in the mud and I had time to stagger to my feet while Mr. -Stevenson pulled it clear. - -"What's the matter with you?" I roared. "What's the--" - -He stood five feet from me. He swung the rifle around and pointed it at -my chest. - -There wasn't a sound--not a sound. It was like a nightmare.... - -I used my own rifle to knock his aside as it went off. The Marlin -Magnum packs a kick and he stumbled back a step. I went after him and -when he pointed his rifle at me again and looked as if he would squeeze -the trigger I had no choice. I swung my own rifle like a club and -brought it down with savage force on his shoulder. - -There was a sound and the sound said his shoulder was broken. He merely -scowled and brought his rifle up again, broken shoulder and all, and -then I knew. - -I shot him. I poured the whole clip into him and the rifle kept kicking -back against my shoulder, the stock slapping my cheek, and I didn't -want to think. It was not until the last bullet went _whonking_ home -that he fell. It was a sound that only a hunter or a killer knows--the -_whonk_ of lead into flesh at close range. It is a horrible sound when -what you're shooting at is a man. - -Was a man. - -Or looked like a man. - -Because, as he fell, Jason Woods Stevenson changed. The features -melted, became indistinct. The limbs fell in on themselves. The body -grew big and round--bloated and somehow obscene. In seconds what had -been a man was a shapeless, quivering, dying mass of protoplasm. A -Wompan. - -Then Harry Conger screamed. - -It was a scream of sudden awareness and fear. It was worse for Harry -than it was for me. Harry was falling in love with Ginger, and now-- - -I went crashing through the fern-brake, seeking them. I shouted at the -top of my lungs now. "Harry! Harry!" - -I found them when it was almost too late. Harry was down on his back, a -dazed look on his face. There was a smear of blood across his face from -ear to mouth. There was a strange look in his eyes. - -Ginger Stevenson stood over him with the short-barrelled Mannlicher. I -shot six times with a new clip before she fell. Harry climbed to his -feet and stormed at me, raging like a mad-man. "You killed her!" he -cried. "You--" - -Then I made him turn around. He saw what was there and what was there -was not and had never been Ginger. He sobbed once and I led him back to -the stockade. - - * * * * * - -"But I don't get it," he said later. I had given him three stiff drinks -and they had helped some, but only a little. Harry needed time to think -and time to forget. "What happened to the Stevensons? To Ginger?" - -"There weren't any Stevensons. No Ginger. Don't you remember they came -right after we heard the Wompan make like a swamp-buggy?" - -"Yeah--" - -"And when we got back there was no spaceship in the stockade, right?" - -"Yeah--" - -"It was the Wompan all along. There never was a Mr. Stevenson or his -daughter." - -"Yeah, but--" - -"You're thinking the Wompan needs a model?" - -"I guess so." - -"It probably had one. The Stevensons last year at Venus Joe's. Isn't -that what it said--as Mr. Stevenson?" - -Harry agreed, but he didn't really care. He had fallen in love--with a -girl who didn't exist. - -"Buck up," I said. - -"It's all right for you to say." - -"No. Buck up, will you?" - -"What for? What the hell for?" - -"Because Venus on the Half Shell has a chance now. Because we killed a -Wompan. It's only the fourth one ever and we're going to get a lot of -free publicity--which ought to make this place." - -"Yeah, that's true," Harry said. But his heart wasn't in it. - -"We'll take pictures," I said. "We'll write it up and send in into -Spaceman's magazine and we'll have it made. Sportsmen will be flocking -here for a crack at Wompans. No wait. I have a better idea. We'll take -pictures and write it up and you'll deliver our story in person to -Spaceman's magazine on Earth." - -"Me? I just want to be alone, Gil. I don't feel like going anywhere." - -I smiled. "Yes, you do. You'll deliver the pictures and the story in -person--to Spaceman's outdoor editor, who the Wompan saw at Venus Joe's -last year. To Jason Woods Stevenson." - -"Yeah," Harry said. - -"And maybe you'll get to meet his daughter, Ginger." - -"Yeah," Harry said again. But this time he was smiling. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE RUN FROM THE HUNTED! *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: We Run From the Hunted!</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Darius John Granger</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: November 17, 2021 [eBook #66759]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE RUN FROM THE HUNTED! ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>We Run From The Hunted!</h1> - -<h2>By Darius John Granger</h2> - -<p>Running a hunting camp on Venus appeared<br /> -to be a good deal. But like any business, you<br /> -had to attract customers—and maybe a Wompan!</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy<br /> -August 1956<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I dabbed at the nick on my jaw with a towel and said, "Ouch! Do you -always have to read to me when I'm shaving?"</p> - -<p>"Shaving," Harry Conger scoffed. "That's just it, shaving. Why can't -you use dipilator, like ordinary people? What do you expect when you -use an archaic razor?"</p> - -<p>"I happen to like the feel of a razor."</p> - -<p>"Well, it's the same with .30-.30 rifles instead of blasters," Harry -said, still riding me. "The best the twenty-first century has to offer -isn't good enough for you. Oh, no." He shoved the accumulation of -unpaid bills in front of my face while I put the razor away and asked -me, "What do you expect to pay these with—twentieth century coin of -the realm?"</p> - -<p>"O.K.," I said. "Lay off. So we happen to be a little behind in a few -payments."</p> - -<p>"A <i>few</i> payments. We haven't had a customer yet, Gil. Not even one -single, slightly jaded Earthman. No one."</p> - -<p>"I still think 'Venus on the Half Shell' is a good idea," I said -stubbornly.</p> - -<p>Harry shook his head. "Good for the bill collectors. Good for the -native bearers, who we've been feeding ever since we opened this joint. -Good for the washed up big-game hunter living off what little fat there -is in our land, but not good for us. If we only had one customer—just -one...."</p> - -<p>"Look out the window," I said, trying to be cheerful. "Venus. Raw. -Primitive. Wild. Thirty million miles from civilization. A hunter's -paradise. And we're the guys who can serve Venus up to our customers -on the half shell. Hunting. Nature-watching. Just loafing. They can -name it—we've got it."</p> - -<p>"You mean we've had it," Harry said gloomily, shaking the fistful of -bills. "Hell, Gil. It isn't only that. We haven't paid the bearers -yet—not that they've had to bear anything. We haven't even paid -what's-his-name, the hunter. All he does is drink our whiskey. Why -don't you admit it, Gil? Venus on the Half Shell is all washed up and -we might as well go back to Earth while we still have the fare."</p> - -<p>I grinned. "Do we still have the fare?"</p> - -<p>"Well, if we sell some of your antique firearms—"</p> - -<p>"Sell them?" I cried. "But they're the only way to hunt, Harry. You -know that. They're the real way to hunt. It's no contest with a -blaster—the local fauna don't have a chance."</p> - -<p>"If we just had one customer."</p> - -<p>"A little while longer, Harry," I pleaded. "You're right. All we need -is one customer, just to spread the word. We've got a virgin paradise -for hunters here and—"</p> - -<p>"I've heard that song before."</p> - -<p>"Well," I said stubbornly, "it's the truth."</p> - -<p>Just then someone knocked at the door. Harry and I shared a small cabin -in the Venus on the Half Shell stockade. It wasn't much of a cabin and -it doubled as office and sleeping quarters. A knock on the door meant -either the leader of the Venusians or Talbot Kramer, our has-been -hunter who so far had been content to sit around drinking our whiskey.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I opened the door. It was Talbot Kramer, complete with week's growth -of beard, red-rimmed eyes, mouldly, swamp-smelling clothing and a -man-sized scowl.</p> - -<p>"Natives are through," he said, and laughed. It may have meant a lot to -me and Harry, but it meant nothing to him.</p> - -<p>"Through?" I said. "What the hell did they quit for?"</p> - -<p>"Wompan," Kramer said.</p> - -<p>"Which?" Harry asked him.</p> - -<p>"Wompan," I repeated. I was excited. "Don't you know what a Wompan is?"</p> - -<p>"Not me," Harry said. "Guess I was too busy studying unpaid bills. -What's a Wompan?"</p> - -<p>"I quit too," Talbot Kramer said suddenly. "You can't expect a hunter -to hang around when the bearers have quit on you. Not anyways, with a -Wompan around camp."</p> - -<p>"Will somebody please tell me," Harry begged, "what a Wompan is?"</p> - -<p>"I'll take the swamp-buggy," Kramer said, getting ready to go outside.</p> - -<p>"The hell you will," Harry and I both said together.</p> - -<p>"Listen. You guys owe me some wages. I know you don't have the cash, -but I'm not complaining. I'll take the swamp-buggy. Hell, its the only -way out of here anyways."</p> - -<p>"Some friend," said Harry. "We won't have any way out ourselves. We'll -be trapped in this damn swamp."</p> - -<p>"Trapped?" Kramer said incredulously. "Did you say trapped? It's your -place of business. There's all the food you need—in the swamp. What's -your hurry to leave? Besides, Mr. Gil Roberts here told himself: one -of these days you're going to get a lot of rich customers coming in -with their own spaceships. Well, got to be going now."</p> - -<p>We went outside with him and over to the squat, ugly shape of the -swamp-buggy. The treads were a foot deep in mud, a normal state of -affairs for the swamp-buggy. It would run, though. It would take Talbot -Kramer, ex big-game hunter with a reputation and not much else, back to -an outpost of civilization. And leave us without a guide if we ever got -any customers.</p> - -<p>"If you give us a little time," I said as Kramer climbed into the buggy -through the roof hatch.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, boys," he said, smelling of our liquor. "There was a letter for -me on this week's mail rocket. A job in Kenya."</p> - -<p>"Kenya, Africa, Earth?" I said, as if I were addressing a letter.</p> - -<p>"That's right," Kramer said, lowering himself through the hatch. In a -moment the swamp-buggy shuddered and made growling noises and shook -itself clear of the mud. Out of habit, Harry and I waved as the buggy -churned across a hundred feet of thick mud and moved ponderously toward -the stockade gate. We stood there and watched the buggy fade into the -green twilight swamps of Venus. It was very hot out there in the -open and Harry and I were drenched with sweat before the sound of the -buggy's motor faded entirely.</p> - -<p>"A hunter's paradise," Harry said.</p> - -<p>"Aw, lay off," I told him.</p> - -<p>Nearby, the buggy suddenly roared again, its motor racing.</p> - -<p>"Is he coming back?" Harry asked hopefully.</p> - -<p>"It wasn't the buggy," I said.</p> - -<p>"Are you kidding. I'd know that motor anywhere. She needs a valve job -like we need customers."</p> - -<p>"That," I said without smiling, "was the Wompan."</p> - -<p>"You're joking."</p> - -<p>"I wish I was," I said, closing the gate.</p> - -<p>"It sounded just like the swamp-buggy."</p> - -<p>"I know. Probably looks like it too—for now."</p> - -<p>"Are you nuts?"</p> - -<p>"Why do you think the natives ran away—and Kramer too. Wompan's deadly -dangerous game."</p> - -<p>"So stop smiling about it."</p> - -<p>"I think it's funny," I said, "being left alone like this. You know -what Wompan means in the Ringin dialect?"</p> - -<p>Harry said he did not.</p> - -<p>"It means, mimic."</p> - -<p>"Oh," Harry said. He seemed relieved. "You mean it can imitate -sounds—like the swamp-buggy's motor?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," I said. "It can imitate sounds. And other things. It can look -like a swamp-buggy or the video star Laura Laurene or maybe Talbot -Kramer or even you. It's a mimic."</p> - -<p>"What does it look like in real life?"</p> - -<p>"No one ever saw one in real life. Only in real death."</p> - -<p>"Very funny."</p> - -<p>"No. I mean it, Harry. The Wompan assumes its own shape when its -killed. If it's killed because that's rare. Then it looks like a -shapeless, jelly-like mass of protoplasm."</p> - -<p>"Then what's so dangerous about it?"</p> - -<p>"It can mime anything. A swamp-buggy. A man. A blaster."</p> - -<p>"A blaster?"</p> - -<p>"It can make like a blaster and blast the hell out of you," I said. "It -can make like a beautiful woman and then strangle you when you're at -your weakest. It can—"</p> - -<p>"Did you lock the gate?" Harry asked. I felt a little sorry for him. -Maybe I'm no Frank Buck, but Harry wasn't cut out for the frontier at -all.</p> - -<p>I told him I locked it. We went back to the cabin and had lunch out -of cans. When we were working on a dessert of canned peaches, the -spaceship came down.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I beat Harry outside by three steps. The spaceship, a small sportster, -sank, on its keel tubes in the mud. It would be a devil of a job -getting her airborne again, but we would worry about that later.</p> - -<p>I looked at Harry. Harry looked at me. "Customers?" I said in a small -voice.</p> - -<p>Harry said, "I don't believe it."</p> - -<p>We stood with our backs to the Venus on the Half Shell sign running -across the upper part of the cabin wall and waited. After a little -while the small sportster's hatch swung out. We squinted at it through -Venus' dazzling white sunless daylight and waited.</p> - -<p>A head popped up. Big head with a mane of white hair and pink cheeks -and some loose extra chins and a strong jaw and a small red flower of -a mouth. Below the head was expensive sports clothing. Very expensive. -All suede and linen and the latest hunting styles you see in the -catalogues. He looked like a million bucks worth of something out of a -Spaceman's magazine. He snapped his fingers and said, "Boy! Our bags."</p> - -<p>Harry looked at me again. I looked at Harry. I placed the flat of my -hand against the small of his back and pushed. He went stumbling across -the mud toward the sportster spaceship. When he got there he managed to -say, "I'll take your bags, sir."</p> - -<p>"I'll set up your tent, sir," I said.</p> - -<p>"Tent?" the man in the sportster repeated. "Your classified ad in -Spaceman's didn't say anything about a tent."</p> - -<p>"That's Venus on the Half Shell," I said. "Outdoor living. Venus as -Venus is to the natives. But it's perfectly safe, sir.</p> - -<p>"We have a stockade, as you can see."</p> - -<p>"I don't know about any tent or roughing it," the sportsman boomed.</p> - -<p>"Well," I said.</p> - -<p>"Game running good?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"The best," I said. "A blind man could bag the legal limit of roupas -and konees and jukets and ferzes in an afternoon."</p> - -<p>"Better hope it takes longer'n that, son," the sportsman boomed again. -"Didn't come all the way to Venus for an afternoon's walk in the woods."</p> - -<p>"Walk in the woods," I said, nudging Harry who had come back staggering -under the weight of several suitcases. "Walk in the woods."</p> - -<p>"Yes?" the sportsman said.</p> - -<p>"What I mean is, there's man-sized hunting around here. Really -man-sized, sir."</p> - -<p>"Daughter's with me," he said, wet-blanketing whatever sales pitch I -might have made. "Hope we haven't made a mistake. Could have gone on to -Venus Joe's. I know Venus Joe's. But I liked your ad in Spaceman's. I -always go by ads in Spaceman's. Know why?"</p> - -<p>"No," I said, shaking my head.</p> - -<p>"I'm Jason Woods Stevenson," he said, swinging his two-hundred pounds -of hard sportsman muscle down the hatch and walking athletically across -the swamp toward me.</p> - -<p>"Jason Woods Stevenson," I said, then suddenly ran forward to pump his -hand vigorously. Jason Woods Stevenson! If he liked it here at Venus on -the Half Shell, Harry and I had it made. Because Jason Woods Stevenson -was the outdoor editor of Spaceman's magazine—and Sportsmen all over -the solar system waited breathlessly each month for him to pontificate -on some new out-of-the-way sportsman's paradise. If he passed on Venus -on the Half Shell, we'd be swamped with business.</p> - -<p>"Don't see any native trackers around," Jason W. Stevenson said after -shaking my hand with a grip that almost broke the finger bones. "Have -them outside?"</p> - -<p>"Well, the truth is—" I said.</p> - -<p>"Is what?"</p> - -<p>"The trackers went back to their tribe."</p> - -<p>"Went back? What about your hunters? Are you boys the hunters too?"</p> - -<p>I couldn't tell him about Talbot Kramer walking out on us. If I told -him that, I knew he would climb right back into his sportster and head -on to Venus Joe's. Venus Joe's which had started with fifty times the -capital Harry and I had had, was doing well enough. But if Spaceman's -magazine gave them a plug and said nothing about us, we really were -through. I knew it and Harry coming back from the tent platform knew it -and we didn't have to say it out loud.</p> - -<p>"Yes," I told Mr. Stevenson. "We're the guides too."</p> - -<p>"Experienced?"</p> - -<p>"We know Venus as well as anyone," I said, which wasn't exactly a lie -since no one, not even the Extra-terrestrial geographic Survey, had -been able to draw an accurate map of Venus yet.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mr. Stevenson seemed very doubtful. "Well, boys, I don't know. No hard -feelings, you understand. If I was alone it might be different. But my -daughter's here. She's not exactly a delicate item now, boys, but she's -no big-game hunter, either. If it was a cabin instead of a tent and if -you had bearers and trackers—"</p> - -<p>"You can have our cabin!" Harry cried desperately.</p> - -<p>"Well, I don't know, boys."</p> - -<p>I gave Harry one of those desperate stares. Harry returned it to me, -saying without words that he had no further ideas either. I could see -our last chance—a favorable write-up in Spaceman's magazine—going up -in smoke. Mr. Stevenson started back toward his sportster and said,</p> - -<p>"I'll say I stopped here on the way to Venus Joe's, boys. I'll say the -place looked—ah, primitive. How's that? Primitive, I'll say. For real -outdoorsmen."</p> - -<p>"Damning with faint praise," Harry whispered to me fiercely. "Gil, -you've got to do something."</p> - -<p>I nodded. My head was suddenly as empty of ideas as the space -between galaxies is empty of stars. I followed Mr. Stevenson back -to the sportster and watched him boost himself up toward the hatch -athletically and lower his two-hundred pounds in with the grace of a -cat. When his head had disappeared but before the hatch banged shut I -said:</p> - -<p>"Wompan."</p> - -<p>The head re-appeared. "What did you say, boy?"</p> - -<p>"I said, Wompan."</p> - -<p>"Here? Wompan here?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir. Positively."</p> - -<p>"I never caught a Wompan," Mr. Stevenson said. "Only three men ever -have."</p> - -<p>"That's right," I said.</p> - -<p>"If I could write it up for Spaceman's magazine—assuming I catch -one—we'd increase our circulation half a million copies."</p> - -<p>"You'll catch one," I promised.</p> - -<p>Jason Woods Stevenson beamed on me. "Oh, to hell with Spaceman's. I -want to catch one because I never have. I've caught everything on Earth -that the law lets you catch, boys. I was up at Venus Joe's last year -and took the legal limit of everything but Wompan. Never even saw a -Wompan. Boys," he said, "you've got yourself a customer."</p> - -<p>He came down again and strode quickly across the quadrangle toward the -wood platform which would serve as the foundation of his tent, keeping -it above the ooze and mud. He was whistling cheerfully and he smiled -again, the grin bisecting his face from ear to ear. If he had anything -on his mind besides Wompan—it was Wompan skin. Whatever Wompan skin -looked like.</p> - -<p>"Aren't you forgetting something, sir?" Harry said.</p> - -<p>"I don't think so, boys. Am I?"</p> - -<p>Harry nodded. "Your daughter?" he said.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stevenson's jaw dropped a foot. "The girl!" he cried. "I almost -forgot about her." He wasn't smiling now. "If her mother ever learned -I took her to a place like this, with absolutely no civilized -conveniences...."</p> - -<p>"But with Wompan," I said.</p> - -<p>He sighed. "Ginger!" he called. "You can come on out now, Ginger honey."</p> - -<p>Harry and I waited for Ginger to make her appearance. After a decent -interval she came gracefully out of the hatch. She was young and -red-haired and pretty. She was built the way a girl ought to be built -and she had a million dollar smile. The smile was for Harry Conger. -Right away she liked Harry. She was nice enough to me in a spoiled -little rich girl way, but Harry, was, as they say, her cup of tea. She -went walking off with him toward the stockade to get her first lesson -in Venusian fauna while Mr. Stevenson and I pitched their tent.</p> - -<p>I was just as glad Ginger had decided Harry was for her, if either -of us had to be. I had too much to think about. Such as Jason Woods -Stevenson and Spaceman's magazine. Such as what a Wompan could or could -not be expected to do when hunted. Such as our last chance to make good -here on Venus. Let Harry have the lovelife, I'd try to keep Venus on -the Half Shell solvent.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That night after supper Mr. Stevenson and Ginger turned in early in -preparation for our first sally the next day. Harry gaped and gazed and -wandered around the stockade, moonstruck.</p> - -<p>"Hey, snap out it," I said.</p> - -<p>"Lovely girl," he said.</p> - -<p>"Lovely old man in charge of the outdoor section of Spaceman's -magazine," I said.</p> - -<p>"Got a smile could melt the night side of Pluto."</p> - -<p>"Wompan," I said. "Remember?"</p> - -<p>"You can handle it, Gil old boy."</p> - -<p>"I don't know if both of us, working together as hard as we ever worked -in our lives, can handle it. But we have to try. We have to be on our -toes, Harry. Are you with me?"</p> - -<p>"Did you see how Ginger's whole face lights up when she smiles?"</p> - -<p>"Harry," I pleaded. "We have a book inside. It isn't much, but it tells -everything anybody knows about a Wompan. What they do. How they kill -people. How to capture them, if they can be captured. Harry, we're -no hunters. Since Wompan is the solar system's most dangerous game, -wouldn't you say that puts us at a slight disadvantage? Wouldn't you, -Harry old boy?"</p> - -<p>"She's really got a sense of humor too, Gil. For a rich kid, she's -simple and unaffected and—"</p> - -<p>"Let's go inside and look at that Wompan book."</p> - -<p>"I'll be along in a while." He waved at air. He wasn't looking at me. -He wasn't thinking about Wompans or even Venus on the Half Shell. He -was six thousand parsecs away and still running. I sighed and went -inside. I burned the midnight oil learning what there was to learn -about Wompans.</p> - -<p>In the morning it was raining. Harry didn't seem to care. He had that -moonstruck grin on his face and I was sure the Stevensons, father and -daughter, noticed it. They were too polite to say anything about it, -though, and Ginger Stevenson did seem friendly toward Harry.</p> - -<p>"Do we try it in the rain?" Jason Woods Stevenson asked me. He wore -a poncho which covered him .30-.30 rifle and all. He looked like a -small tent with a head on top, but it was practical. Ginger wore a -transparent raincoat which showed her nice sports clothing and nicer -figure. It wasn't practical, but Ginger was a girl.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," I said. "We try it in the rain."</p> - -<p>And off we marched to find ourselves a Wompan.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We tried it in the rain. We tried it in the dazzling white Venusian -daylight. We tried at dawn and we tried at dusk. We tried every way it -said to try in the book, but we didn't find any Wompan.</p> - -<p>Twelve days went by that way. Mr. Stevenson had already told us his -limit was fourteen days. I got glummer and glummer, but not Harry. If I -asked Harry what a Wompan was, he probably would have shrugged and said -it wasn't important. Harry was still moonstruck and the nicest part of -it from Harry's point of view was this: Ginger was moonstruck too.</p> - -<p>Mr. Stevenson, though, grew desperate. Not about Ginger and Harry—he -didn't seem to mind. About the Wompan. He wanted one. If you have ever -known a sportsman after particular game, you will understand. He had -to get a Wompan. I knew how he felt: we <i>had</i> to stay in business. No -other animal would do and—although it wasn't our fault—I knew that -if Mr. Stevenson didn't get himself a Wompan, Venus on the Half Shell -would not be saved by a big, many-paged spread in Spaceman's magazine.</p> - -<p>On the thirteenth day, Mr. Stevenson said, "Going tomorrow. Early in -the morning. This is our last try, Gil."</p> - -<p>"I know that, sir," I said.</p> - -<p>"Before we start, thought I'd kick over the sportster's engine. Don't -want last minute trouble, you know."</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir," I said. He climbed inside the small spaceship and kicked -her over. He climbed down, satisfied. The rocket engine had purred like -a kitten.</p> - -<p>And purred again—outside the stockade!</p> - -<p>I jumped about a mile and came down feeling light as a feather. There -couldn't be another sportster in the vicinity. Certainly not. I knew -it and so did Mr. Stevenson, who had studied our little book about the -Wompan.</p> - -<p>"Wompan," he said, looking at me.</p> - -<p>I nodded and we went for the rifles.</p> - -<p>Ginger had a short-barreled light-kicking Mannlicher, Harry and I -carried Springfields and Mr. Stevenson had a big Marlin Magnum .375. -We had enough firepower to stop anything the Venusian swamps offered -unless something—such as a Wompan—stopped us first.</p> - -<p>"Let's go out there," Mr. Stevenson said, loading a clip of ammo into -the Marlin's magazine and ramming a single shell into the breech.</p> - -<p>I led the way, followed single file by Mr. Stevenson, Ginger and Harry -in that order. We went less than a hundred yards and could no longer -see the stockade behind us. Venusian swamp jungle was like that. It -was strangely quiet, though. We noticed that at once—the usual small -jungle noises were still, as if waiting, watching....</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>"The Wompan," I whispered. "He's here, sir."</p> - -<p>"How can you be sure?"</p> - -<p>"Listen...."</p> - -<p>"You mean the quiet?"</p> - -<p>"The animals know he's here. Instinctively, they fear him. They won't -make a sound because if they do, he'll have them. He can mime the sound -of any life form and when he does that, he has them."</p> - -<p>"He has them how?" Mr. Stevenson asked in a tight, anxious whisper.</p> - -<p>"By pretending to be one of them and killing them when they don't -expect it."</p> - -<p>"I see. And we—"</p> - -<p>"Keep on the lookout," I said. "And don't separate. As long as we stay -together, sir, all four of us, we're safe."</p> - -<p>We had come a couple of hundred yards from the stockade. Unless you -knew the way back, though, it could have been a couple of hundred -miles. Some of the bogs could be treacherous, too.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I went knee-deep in the muck and pulled my feet out. The mud made -sucking sounds against the rubber of my boots. Something touched my -shoulder and I whirled—but it was only Mr. Stevenson.</p> - -<p>"Where are they?" he said.</p> - -<p>Ginger and Harry were gone.</p> - -<p>I swore. I called Harry every name in the book, but it didn't help. -Hell, he had had ample time to be alone with Ginger. Of all the fool -stunts—</p> - -<p>"You'd better find them, Roberts, and find them now," Mr. Stevenson -said, his voice flat and cold. "That's my little girl he has out there."</p> - -<p>I nodded grimly and we went back along the trail a slow step at a -time, trying to pierce the green twilight gloom on either side. The -jungle was very quiet—deadly quiet. Wompan quiet. The animals told us -soundlessly. The Wompan was nearby.</p> - -<p>"Harry?" I called.</p> - -<p>"Can you chance it?" Mr. Stevenson whispered.</p> - -<p>"I've got to."</p> - -<p>We went back slowly, at a crawl. We covered twenty yards. Thirty. There -was nothing.</p> - -<p>"Harry," I called. "Harry?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Stevenson's hand gripped my shoulder. He pointed. "What's that out -there?"</p> - -<p>I looked where he had pointed. Creepers and lianas and thick -fern-brakes obscured my view. I couldn't see a thing.</p> - -<p>"Out there," he said again.</p> - -<p>I could see perhaps five yards, no more. It was utterly silent. It was -also hot and humid as it always is in the Venusian swamps. My khakis -clung to me with sweat.</p> - -<p>"I still can't see a thing," I said. He pointed a third time. I stared -and saw nothing and was about to say so when something struck the side -of my head just above the ear.</p> - -<p>I staggered off into the fern-brake and sat down. I was groggy and I -didn't know what had hit me. There still wasn't a sound in the jungle. -When I brought my hand up to my ear and brought it away again, it was -red and wet and glistening with blood. I turned around slowly, stiffly—</p> - -<p>Jason Woods Stevenson stood there in the fern-brake. He looked -gigantic. He lifted the big Marlin Magnum .375 over his head and -brought it down, butt-first. I rolled over and away and the big rifle -struck half a foot from my head. Several inches of the rifle were -buried in the mud and I had time to stagger to my feet while Mr. -Stevenson pulled it clear.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with you?" I roared. "What's the—"</p> - -<p>He stood five feet from me. He swung the rifle around and pointed it at -my chest.</p> - -<p>There wasn't a sound—not a sound. It was like a nightmare....</p> - -<p>I used my own rifle to knock his aside as it went off. The Marlin -Magnum packs a kick and he stumbled back a step. I went after him and -when he pointed his rifle at me again and looked as if he would squeeze -the trigger I had no choice. I swung my own rifle like a club and -brought it down with savage force on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>There was a sound and the sound said his shoulder was broken. He merely -scowled and brought his rifle up again, broken shoulder and all, and -then I knew.</p> - -<p>I shot him. I poured the whole clip into him and the rifle kept kicking -back against my shoulder, the stock slapping my cheek, and I didn't -want to think. It was not until the last bullet went <i>whonking</i> home -that he fell. It was a sound that only a hunter or a killer knows—the -<i>whonk</i> of lead into flesh at close range. It is a horrible sound when -what you're shooting at is a man.</p> - -<p>Was a man.</p> - -<p>Or looked like a man.</p> - -<p>Because, as he fell, Jason Woods Stevenson changed. The features -melted, became indistinct. The limbs fell in on themselves. The body -grew big and round—bloated and somehow obscene. In seconds what had -been a man was a shapeless, quivering, dying mass of protoplasm. A -Wompan.</p> - -<p>Then Harry Conger screamed.</p> - -<p>It was a scream of sudden awareness and fear. It was worse for Harry -than it was for me. Harry was falling in love with Ginger, and now—</p> - -<p>I went crashing through the fern-brake, seeking them. I shouted at the -top of my lungs now. "Harry! Harry!"</p> - -<p>I found them when it was almost too late. Harry was down on his back, a -dazed look on his face. There was a smear of blood across his face from -ear to mouth. There was a strange look in his eyes.</p> - -<p>Ginger Stevenson stood over him with the short-barrelled Mannlicher. I -shot six times with a new clip before she fell. Harry climbed to his -feet and stormed at me, raging like a mad-man. "You killed her!" he -cried. "You—"</p> - -<p>Then I made him turn around. He saw what was there and what was there -was not and had never been Ginger. He sobbed once and I led him back to -the stockade.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"But I don't get it," he said later. I had given him three stiff drinks -and they had helped some, but only a little. Harry needed time to think -and time to forget. "What happened to the Stevensons? To Ginger?"</p> - -<p>"There weren't any Stevensons. No Ginger. Don't you remember they came -right after we heard the Wompan make like a swamp-buggy?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah—"</p> - -<p>"And when we got back there was no spaceship in the stockade, right?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah—"</p> - -<p>"It was the Wompan all along. There never was a Mr. Stevenson or his -daughter."</p> - -<p>"Yeah, but—"</p> - -<p>"You're thinking the Wompan needs a model?"</p> - -<p>"I guess so."</p> - -<p>"It probably had one. The Stevensons last year at Venus Joe's. Isn't -that what it said—as Mr. Stevenson?"</p> - -<p>Harry agreed, but he didn't really care. He had fallen in love—with a -girl who didn't exist.</p> - -<p>"Buck up," I said.</p> - -<p>"It's all right for you to say."</p> - -<p>"No. Buck up, will you?"</p> - -<p>"What for? What the hell for?"</p> - -<p>"Because Venus on the Half Shell has a chance now. Because we killed a -Wompan. It's only the fourth one ever and we're going to get a lot of -free publicity—which ought to make this place."</p> - -<p>"Yeah, that's true," Harry said. But his heart wasn't in it.</p> - -<p>"We'll take pictures," I said. "We'll write it up and send in into -Spaceman's magazine and we'll have it made. Sportsmen will be flocking -here for a crack at Wompans. No wait. I have a better idea. We'll take -pictures and write it up and you'll deliver our story in person to -Spaceman's magazine on Earth."</p> - -<p>"Me? I just want to be alone, Gil. I don't feel like going anywhere."</p> - -<p>I smiled. "Yes, you do. You'll deliver the pictures and the story in -person—to Spaceman's outdoor editor, who the Wompan saw at Venus Joe's -last year. To Jason Woods Stevenson."</p> - -<p>"Yeah," Harry said.</p> - -<p>"And maybe you'll get to meet his daughter, Ginger."</p> - -<p>"Yeah," Harry said again. But this time he was smiling.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WE RUN FROM THE HUNTED! ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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