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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78910 ***
+
+
+
+
+                            Hunt the Red Roe
+
+                             by Alan Payne
+                       [Pseudonym of John Jakes]
+
+
+
+
+  _Would you kill God for a few pieces of silver?_
+
+  _Regan was a professional hunter. He shot what he was paid to shoot,
+  and the rich, beautiful young woman wanted the head of the sacred red
+  roebuck to hang on her wall. But when the hunter squinted down his
+  rifle barrel he looked into the eye of God!_
+
+[Illustration> Illustrator: Gerald McCann]
+
+
+
+
+Some things, Regan thought, a man can do without feeling shame. Others,
+he cannot. And at this moment, sitting there in the dim cafe with the
+gray fog of Venus creeping through the streets outside, he felt that he
+had trapped himself into a deed which would prey on his mind for a long
+time.
+
+They sat at a table far back in the corner, Regan and the woman
+named Mrs. Holloway. They were both Terrans. He was a hunter here on
+Venus, a tall spare man with hairy arms and thick, strong fingers and
+somber, gray eyes. She, on the other hand, was slender and soft, with
+sharp upthrusting breasts and red, moist lips. Her greenish eyes had
+something of ruthlessness in them, and she clicked her fingernails
+nervously on the wine-glass. Her rich, green cloak contrasted sharply
+with Regan’s sweat-stained shirt and trousers.
+
+The barman dozed on a high stool. Regan watched the man’s head sink
+lower and lower. It took his mind off the problem at hand. Finally, he
+realized that he could dodge the issue no longer, and he turned back to
+Mrs. Holloway.
+
+“Does your husband know about this?” he asked grimly.
+
+She laughed, a glassy, tinkling laugh, empty of emotion. “No. My
+husband is in Venusburg. I do what I please and I don’t answer to him.
+I’ve got my own income, Regan, and I’m willing to spend part of it for
+your services. You were recommended as the best guide in the village.”
+Her eyes bored into him. “Are you?”
+
+He drained the last of his whisky. “I was, up until last season.
+Customers are dropping off. All the professional hunters have shipped
+to Mars. There are some new kinds of animals there.”
+
+She nodded with a faint hint of triumph. “You’re broke, Regan. Is that
+right?”
+
+“Yeah, I’m broke. Otherwise I’d tell you to go to hell.”
+
+Her hand crept out and touched his wrist, warm, faintly perfumed. She
+seemed to sway forward across the little wicker table. “Regan, I’ve
+hunted every animal on Earth. I’ve had enough money all my life to do
+what I wanted, and there was nothing that pleased me more than chasing
+a beast and downing it. It’s like playing God, Regan. A superior brain
+against an animal brain....”
+
+“And now you want to hunt the red roebuck,” he said.
+
+“What’s so wrong in that?”
+
+“Nothing,” he said bitterly, “except that there aren’t more than a
+dozen of them on the Preserve, and they happen to be the sacred animal
+of the Venusians. A religious animal. You know damned well....”
+
+She hesitated. Her eyes rested on the wine-glass, then raised abruptly
+to his once more. “Are you afraid? I’ll pay you, Regan, so why be
+afraid?” Her tone grew mocking. “Unless of course you’re a deeply
+religious man....”
+
+“Don’t talk like that,” he growled.
+
+“Then answer me! Yes or no!”
+
+He hesitated. He thought about his empty stomach, his dirty shack, his
+feeling that he was the last hunter in the village and that he was
+going to have to get money to ship out, or else starve. What the hell
+if it was sacred animal ... he....
+
+“All right,” he said quietly.
+
+She nodded. “That’s wonderful. Do you think we’ll have any trouble?
+Guards? Anything like that....” Her eyes gleamed brightly, greedily,
+and Regan did not like the look in them.
+
+He pushed back his chair and got up. “No trouble at all. They don’t
+guard the Preserve.”
+
+“Why?” She was startled.
+
+“The Venusians are a trusting people,” he said sarcastically. “They
+believe a Terran wouldn’t shoot a red roe for the same reason a
+Venusian wouldn’t go inside a Terran church and steal a gold cross.
+Trusting....” He laughed shortly.
+
+“It’s sport, Regan,” she said as she followed him out of the cafe and
+along the gray, cobbled street through the fog. “The sport of hunting
+... and stalking ... and killing....” Her voice dropped to a low,
+savage whisper and he saw her fingers clenched tightly until the skin
+of her palms was as red as the blood color of her nails.
+
+They reached the small inn. He turned quickly to her. “Be ready at six
+tomorrow morning. We can reach the place by noon. You know what wear.
+Anti-disease suit, all the rest.”
+
+She nodded. Her tiny pink tongue rested lightly on her lips for a
+moment. “Thank you, Regan. There may be more than hunting to be had.”
+
+Something recoiled within him. He turned sharply on his heel. “Six
+tomorrow,” he said without turning around. He felt that her eyes were
+digging into his back, watching him as he walked along the street.
+What the hell, Regan, he kept saying, you’ve got to ship out. Are you
+religious? What the hell difference does it make? ... What? ...
+
+But somehow, deep down in his mind, something was sick at the idea.
+
+He reached the wall at the edge of the village. The Old Beggar was
+there, a gray-skinned Venusian holy man, blind, whom the villagers
+believed had prophetic powers. The Old Beggar lifted his ugly, gray
+eyepits and raised his bowl imploringly as Regan approached.
+
+“Coppers,” he wailed, shaking his matted hair, “coppers. Lord Regan....”
+
+Regan shivered and stopped. The Old Beggar had an uncanny way of
+recognizing people in the village by their steps. It made him nervous.
+Reluctantly, Regan dug down into his jacket pocket and came up with
+three of the triangular shaped coins. He tossed them into the bowl and
+started to walk on.
+
+The Old Beggar did not utter his customary word of thanks. His
+sightless eyes stared down at the bowl, his mouth hung slackly open,
+and abruptly he turned the bowl upside down and dumped the money out
+onto the muddy earth. He let out a high, piercing howl and one finger
+pointed shakily at Regan.
+
+“Unclean!” he howled. “Defiler! Killer of the red roe!”
+
+Regan’s stomach jerked up into knots. His fists clenched and he stared
+down at the old man, trembling. “Unclean!” the Old Beggar shouted
+again. Regan wanted to hit him, silence him, but something held him
+back. With unexplainable terror singing through every nerve in his
+body, Regan turned and ran out through the wall, and he did not stop
+until he had reached his shack at the edge of the jungle. He raced up
+the steps, slammed through the door, closed it and stood with his back
+against it, panting.
+
+Karal turned around from the tiny stove where he had been cooking the
+noon meal. His gray eyes went open in surprise. “Lord Regan!” he said
+quickly, rushing forward. “What has happened?”
+
+“Nothing, nothing....” Regan waved his hand and then rubbed his eyes.
+Karal stood before him, a slender, gray-skinned Venusian boy about
+fifteen years old. He was Regan’s helper on the hunts. Years before,
+Regan had found him floundering in the swamps upcountry, and had pulled
+him out. Karal, lost from his family who had been slain on a hunting
+expedition, seemed almost dead. From the time of the rescue, Karal had
+bound himself to Regan with stubborn and grateful loyalty.
+
+Regan stumbled forward and sat down at the rough, jungle-wood table.
+“Get me some coffee, will you?”
+
+Karal hurried to the stove and returned with a cup of the steaming
+brown liquid. Regan gulped it hastily. He kept his eyes on the
+tabletop. Somehow, he couldn’t look at Karal. Finally he said, “Get the
+stuff ready for tomorrow morning. Load up the truck.”
+
+Karal’s eyes gleamed excitedly. “A trip? A hunting trip?”
+
+“Yeah,” Regan said quietly. “A hunting trip.”
+
+“Where are we going?”
+
+Regan stared hard at the boy. “The Preserve.”
+
+“The....” An expression of shocked horror swept across the boy’s face.
+
+“That’s right,” Regan said quietly. “We’re going to get a red roe.”
+
+The boy lowered his head. He shook it unbelievingly. “Lord Regan
+... I ... the red roe ... that is forbidden ... my people and their
+religion....”
+
+“Listen,” Regan said sharply, “there isn’t any law says you can’t shoot
+one of them. I need money and I’ve got a client who wants a red roe. I
+know how your people feel about it, but I’m a Terran and if you want to
+get out, go ahead.”
+
+There was sick disappointment in the boy’s eyes. He was silent for a
+moment. Finally, he spoke. “No, Lord Regan. I have bound myself to you.
+I will go....” He rose and walked slowly to the door. “I will make the
+truck ready,” he said as he vanished through the door.
+
+Regan sat staring into his cup of coffee. That had been hard, hurting
+the boy. His mind teetered back and forth. He was walking into the
+Preserve and killing the animal without feeling ... destroying a part
+of the native religion. But what about getting out of the village? That
+took money. He didn’t want to starve. He....
+
+Confused anger welled up within him. He lifted the filled cup and flung
+it hatefully against the wall. The cup rattled on the floor and the
+brown liquid spread out along the boards. Regan stared at it, his right
+hand opening and closing convulsively. Sweat droplets stood out on his
+forehead. “Goddam it,” he whispered savagely.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Before dawn the next morning Regan, Karal and Mrs. Holloway rolled
+out of the village in the truck. All three were dressed in the gray,
+rubberish anti-disease suits. The rear of the truck was loaded with
+Regan’s weapons, ammunition, cooking equipment and Mrs. Holloway’s
+three Webb-Dangerfield Tri-power magnesium rifles. When Regan saw her
+equipment at the little inn, he allowed himself a faint feeling of
+admiration. The weapons were expensive. But they were also the very
+best in big-game hunting rifles. It was Regan’s dream that some day he
+could afford a Webb-Dangerfield.
+
+The truck rumbled through the bumpy streets. Mrs. Holloway, her blonde
+hair brushed back and tied at the nape of her neck, looked straight
+ahead, smoking. Karal sat staring glumly at the dash panel. He had
+said few words since the previous noon, and it made Regan feel all the
+worse. He had lost the boy’s respect, and he knew it.
+
+“How long will it take us to reach the Preserve?” Mrs. Holloway asked
+as they rolled through the edge of the village. Her eyes shone with
+expectancy.
+
+“About two hours,” Regan replied heavily.
+
+“Good.” She laughed a tiny laugh.
+
+To the left, Regan saw the circular tabernacle where the Venusians
+held their religious ceremonies. Through the open cab window and above
+the rumble of the motor, he heard a high, reedy piping of voices.
+The morning ceremony, he knew. Before them the thick veil of fog
+lifted. The headlights, as Regan spun the wheel for a turn, struck the
+tabernacle door. Carved into the pillars, Regan saw the figure of the
+sacred animal in various poses. The red roebuck, drinking, running,
+standing.... He turned his eyes quickly and jerked the wheel around.
+The tabernacle and the singing were lost in the fog as they left the
+village behind them.
+
+Two hours. Two hours of silent traveling, with only the roar of the
+motor. Two hours, while the dank rotting jungle rolled past, while
+occasional slimy rain ran in gummy streaks down the windshield and was
+cut away by the acid-coated wipers. Two hours, with the woman stretched
+out on the seat beside him, her long fleshy legs reaching under the
+dash, her eyes hungry. Two hours, with the boy Karal hanging his head,
+staring out the window with eyes that were strangely dead. Regan’s
+fingers were tension-white where he gripped the wheel. Two almost
+unendurable hours.
+
+At last they made camp in a small glade. Regan cooked the meal of
+artificial beef and vegetables. Mrs. Holloway stalked up and down the
+glade, slapping her gloves on her thigh, and Karal moved noiselessly
+back and forth, obeying Regan’s commands but not speaking. As they
+drank their coffee, Mrs. Holloway glanced up at the fog-shrouded crowns
+of the trees.
+
+She threw down the coffee cup and got to her feet. “Look, Regan, how
+far are we from the Preserve now?”
+
+He pointed wearily through the trees. “About an eighth of a mile.”
+
+“Then for God’s sake let’s go. I came here to hunt. That’s what you’re
+getting paid for. To lead a hunt.”
+
+Regan rose, kicked out the fire, and shouldered his rifle. “It isn’t
+going to be much of a hunt, I can tell you that. The red roes are
+pretty tame. You’ll just stand there and blast one down while it looks
+at you.” He said the words bitterly.
+
+She laughed again. “What’s the matter, Regan? Getting squeamish about
+the native hymn singers?” The laugh rose, tinkling, brittle, sharp. He
+suddenly had a wild urge to bring down his rifle butt and smash her
+face in. But he caught hold of himself. Remember, Regan, the cash, his
+mind whispered. Cash, cash, _cash_....
+
+He grumbled something. She glared at him, and he knew that she was
+aware of his feelings. Something new shone in her eyes now. It was no
+longer the guide-hunter relationship. There was something like personal
+animosity between them. They both sensed it. Regan shivered.
+
+A light footstep sounded behind him. He turned. Karal stood there.
+
+“What is it?” Regan asked.
+
+“Lord Regan,” the boy said, keeping his eyes on the ground, “I wish to
+ask if I may be allowed to remain here.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+The boy raised his eyes and stared hard at Regan. “I do not wish to see
+the red roe slain,” he whispered.
+
+“All right. Stay here,” Regan said, conscious of the tense snarling
+quality of his voice. He turned to Mrs. Holloway. “Let’s get this over.”
+
+He led the way out of the glade onto a narrow trail. Mrs. Holloway
+tramped along behind him, their boots making slogging sounds in the
+thick, greasy mud. Insects flitted around Regan, darting toward his
+face. He slapped at one and his hand came away covered with pulp and
+blood. He tramped on, the fog whirling in gray ropes around him, trying
+to forget the woman behind him. But he kept hearing the sound of her
+boots, kept hearing the small, tuneless melody she was humming.
+
+The tall trees thinned out abruptly, and ahead of them were smaller,
+younger trees, delicately formed, with large sensuous blossoms drooping
+in the steamy air. The colors were riotously flamboyant, blobs of green
+and gold and orange and sky blue hanging suspended from thin gray
+limbs. A heady wine-smelling perfume floated on the air. The place had
+the appearance of a strange and alien garden, with the fog floating
+close to the ground.
+
+Mrs. Holloway unslung the Webb-Dangerfield from her shoulder, threw
+the safety off and peered into the maze of small trees. “Is this the
+Preserve?” she asked quietly.
+
+“This is it,” Regan replied. Wearily, he unslung his rifle also and got
+it ready for firing. “We might as well go in, Mrs. Holloway.”
+
+She turned to him, her eyes narrowing in the shadowy gloom. She studied
+him and the harsh corners of her mouth curled upward in a little smile.
+“You’re afraid,” she whispered, almost wonderingly. “Regan, you’re
+afraid.”
+
+“That’s right,” he said softly, and started to walk forward.
+
+This was another world, this strange and brilliant garden in the midst
+of the gray jungles. Large fan-plumed birds sat on the blossom-covered
+branches, singing in high, clear tones, spreading their tail feathers
+and puffing out their chests. The boots of Regan and Mrs. Holloway
+stirred eddies of fog.
+
+Abruptly Regan stopped. A shape materialized in the fog up ahead. With
+a finger to his lips, Regan started forward again. They had not taken
+more than a half dozen steps when he stopped a second time and pointed.
+“There. The red roebuck.”
+
+The beast was directly in front of them, with its head turned in their
+direction. Regan breathed in a wondering sigh. He had never seen
+one before. Almost miraculously, the mist had parted and the beast
+stood there, its magnificent reddish coat glowing softly, its great
+rust-brown horns thrusting up from its head. The snout was long, and
+the eyes were brown-red, large, shot through with flecks of gold. They
+looked ... Regan shivered ... they looked almost human.
+
+The beast certainly resembled a Terran roebuck, but it was evident
+that this animal was much, much different. The strange glowing coat,
+the eyes that seemed to thrust into Regan’s soul, full of peace and
+gentleness ... they were not of Earth. This was a beast of a strange
+world. A beautiful beast.
+
+Mrs. Holloway laughed, and Regan suddenly felt as if he had been
+sprayed with filth. He turned toward her, to tell her again that the
+beast would not run, and that all she would have to do was shoot it
+down where it stood. There was a smile on Mrs. Holloway’s wet, red lips
+as Regan turned. The Webb-Dangerfield was pointed straight at Regan’s
+belly.
+
+“What the hell....” he whispered.
+
+“Regan, I’ve found better sport than the red roe. You!”
+
+“Listen, Mrs. Holloway....” He took a step forward. She tensed.
+
+“I’ll shoot you, Regan. I’m serious.”
+
+“What’s the game?”
+
+“Still the roebuck.” Her mouth curled into the devil-smile. “But I want
+you to kill it for me. I want you to shoot it down, Regan. _You!_”
+
+He let out a curse and started forward. The Webb-Dangerfield exploded.
+He was blinded for an instant as the sizzling ball of white-hot fire
+ripped by his shoulder, scorching the rubber suit.
+
+“You don’t want to die, Regan,” she said. “You want to live. You’re
+a weak man, Regan. Just kill the red roe, and I’ll pay you double.
+_Double_, Regan. And give you one of my rifles. In my world, Regan,
+there is nothing but sport. Pursuit of sport. I’ve never found anything
+like this before. I mean to take advantage of it....”
+
+“You’re crazy,” he whispered.
+
+“Perhaps I am, a little,” she replied. “But who isn’t, in one way or
+another?” Her tone grew commanding. The round muzzle poked at Regan.
+“Go ahead. Raise your rifle and kill the animal.”
+
+It would be so easy, he thought, quickly and terribly. Easy, Regan,
+easy, you’ll get out alive if you do it for her. And a Webb-Dangerfield
+in the bargain. Think, man, think.... He turned slowly to stare at the
+roebuck, waiting there before them, its coat shining, its eyes full of
+that strange, magnificent peace and gentleness.
+
+He swallowed. His stomach was cold. Unsteadily, he raised the rifle
+in the direction of the roebuck. “That’s it, Regan,” he heard Mrs.
+Holloway crooning, “that’s it, Regan, go ahead, go ahead, kill it, kill
+it, kill it, Regan....”
+
+His finger tightened on the trigger. The sweat ran down under his arms.
+The eye of the roebuck was centered in his ring sight, large, round,
+brown-red, flecked with gold. Suddenly, Regan thought of the Old Beggar
+at the wall of the village, of Karal the boy who had been his friend.
+He thought of the tabernacle and the reedy voices and he thought of
+this mad woman holding her weapon trained upon him.
+
+He squinted down the barrel. Somehow, the beast’s eye seemed to
+grow, grow and enfold him. That eye, so full of peace, so full of a
+gentle spirit, a spirit of humble patience ... a spirit.... Something
+whispered in Regan’s mind in a voice of terrible fear, That is the eye
+of God. _That is the eye of God!_
+
+And his stomach jumped and revolted at the thought of slaying the beast.
+
+He whirled, and Mrs. Holloway’s head was in the ring sight of his
+weapon.
+
+She screamed and fired. The blast ripped out in white fury, blinding
+him, and he felt fire tear his leg. He ground his teeth together to
+keep from screaming with pain. Mrs. Holloway was cursing him obscenely,
+wildly, and readying another blast when Regan fired. The thunder echoed
+and re-echoed through the tiny garden. Slowly, the blinding glare
+vanished from before his eyes and he lowered his rifle.
+
+Mrs. Holloway was spilling her blood out onto the ground.
+
+Wearily, feeling the pain in his leg, seeing the scorched black hole
+in his flesh, Regan turned back to the red roebuck. It still stood
+there, its feet caught in fog, its mighty head raised toward the sky,
+listening. Regan threw his rifle to the ground.
+
+The roebuck stood still for one more split instant, and then it leaped,
+long and far, rising up and up in its great leap and disappearing into
+the fog and the blossom-laden garden. Regan took one more look at the
+dead, mangled corpse of the woman, and turned and walked back toward
+the truck.
+
+Karal rose from the ashes of the dead fire to meet him. Anxiously,
+he looked at the ragged black wound in Regan’s leg. The hunter stood
+looking down at the boy. “The roebuck is alive,” he said. “We did not
+kill it.” The fires of faith relit themselves in the boy’s eyes.
+
+Karal drove the truck back to the village. Regan ordered him to drive
+to the wall. There Regan, his body filled with terrible pain, climbed
+down and approached the Old Beggar. The Venusian lifted his sightless
+face. Regan stood before him, tottering.
+
+“I’m clean,” he gasped. “The roebuck lives....”
+
+“I know.” The Old Beggar nodded his head slowly. “Peace, Lord Regan,”
+he whispered.
+
+Regan turned around, the pain welling up in him, took a step, and
+teetered forward. The muddy earth rose to meet and swallow him....
+
+Gradually the ragged wound healed. There was talk in the village,
+much talk. But one day a rocket burned down out of the gray fog, and
+a thin, small, gold-spectacled man in a rumpled white suit appeared
+at Regan’s bed. His name was Vincent Holloway. Regan told his story,
+omitting nothing. When it was over, Holloway told the hunter of even
+more terrible things, of the strange savage he had found in the woman
+who had been his wife in name only. Mrs. Holloway had even spent one
+year in an asylum on Mars. The small, gold-spectacled man had sad,
+regretful eyes when he went away. Vincent Holloway collected a suitcase
+full of clothing from the inn and got back into the rocket and vanished
+in a trail of orange fire among the fog-hung tree crowns. The jury of
+Venusian governmental inquiring into the woman’s death returned the
+decision of self-protection.
+
+Regan still had two Webb-Dangerfields in the truck. He sold one. That
+bought passage to Red Sands on Mars, for himself as well as for the boy
+Karal. The two of them got on the rocket, Regan leaning unsteadily on
+a cane, but feeling the fibres of his leg knitting, healing, growing
+back together. Regan stood at the watchport as the rocket rose from
+the village. His hand rested on the boy’s shoulder. He stared down at
+the jungle, glad he was leaving, tremendously glad to leave the tiny
+village, the jungle, the fog-world. The engines drummed as the rocket
+rose toward the top of the fog.
+
+Regan stared down and down into the swirling grayness, and one thought
+went around and around in his mind. He knew he could never forget.
+Something in his soul had been wrenched forever. Where he had been only
+stumbling before, now he was certain. There was a something in him that
+now told clearly the difference between good and evil in a man’s life.
+A something that was round, gold-flecked, full of peace and gentleness.
+And as the engines thundered and the rocket rose, Regan thought, over
+and over, _it was the eye of God_....
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber’s note:
+
+
+  This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader,
+  April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).
+
+  Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but
+  minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78910 ***
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+/* Transcriber's notes */
+.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA;
+    color: black;
+    font-size:small;
+    padding:0.5em;
+    margin-bottom:5em;
+    font-family:sans-serif, serif;
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+    </style>
+</head>
+
+<body>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78910 ***</div>
+
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="cover" style="max-width: 107.5625em;">
+  <img class="w20" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Transcribed from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader, April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+<h1>
+Hunt the Red Roe
+</h1>
+
+
+<p class="f15 center">by <strong>Alan Payne</strong></p>
+<p class="f15 center">[Pseudonym of <strong>John Jakes</strong>]</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+
+
+<blockquote>
+<p><i>Would you kill God for a few pieces of silver?</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Regan was a professional hunter. He shot what he was paid to shoot,
+and the rich, beautiful young woman wanted the head of the sacred red
+roebuck to hang on her wall. But when the hunter squinted down his
+rifle barrel he looked into the eye of God!</i></p>
+</blockquote>
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+
+<figure class="figcenter illowp51" id="70" style="max-width: 46.875em;">
+  <img class="w20" src="images/70.jpg" alt="">
+  <figcaption>
+    <p>Illustrator: Gerald McCann</p>
+  </figcaption>
+</figure>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"><div class="chapter"></div>
+
+
+<p>Some things, Regan thought, a man can do without feeling shame. Others,
+he cannot. And at this moment, sitting there in the dim cafe with the
+gray fog of Venus creeping through the streets outside, he felt that he
+had trapped himself into a deed which would prey on his mind for a long
+time.</p>
+
+<p>They sat at a table far back in the corner, Regan and the woman
+named Mrs. Holloway. They were both Terrans. He was a hunter here on
+Venus, a tall spare man with hairy arms and thick, strong fingers and
+somber, gray eyes. She, on the other hand, was slender and soft, with
+sharp upthrusting breasts and red, moist lips. Her greenish eyes had
+something of ruthlessness in them, and she clicked her fingernails
+nervously on the wine-glass. Her rich, green cloak contrasted sharply
+with Regan’s sweat-stained shirt and trousers.</p>
+
+<p>The barman dozed on a high stool. Regan watched the man’s head sink
+lower and lower. It took his mind off the problem at hand. Finally, he
+realized that he could dodge the issue no longer, and he turned back to
+Mrs. Holloway.</p>
+
+<p>“Does your husband know about this?” he asked grimly.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed, a glassy, tinkling laugh, empty of emotion. “No. My
+husband is in Venusburg. I do what I please and I don’t answer to him.
+I’ve got my own income, Regan, and I’m willing to spend part of it for
+your services. You were recommended as the best guide in the village.”
+Her eyes bored into him. “Are you?”</p>
+
+<p>He drained the last of his whisky. “I was, up until last season.
+Customers are dropping off. All the professional hunters have shipped
+to Mars. There are some new kinds of animals there.”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded with a faint hint of triumph. “You’re broke, Regan. Is that
+right?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah, I’m broke. Otherwise I’d tell you to go to hell.”</p>
+
+<p>Her hand crept out and touched his wrist, warm, faintly perfumed. She
+seemed to sway forward across the little wicker table. “Regan, I’ve
+hunted every animal on Earth. I’ve had enough money all my life to do
+what I wanted, and there was nothing that pleased me more than chasing
+a beast and downing it. It’s like playing God, Regan. A superior brain
+against an animal brain....”</p>
+
+<p>“And now you want to hunt the red roebuck,” he said.</p>
+
+<p>“What’s so wrong in that?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing,” he said bitterly, “except that there aren’t more than a
+dozen of them on the Preserve, and they happen to be the sacred animal
+of the Venusians. A religious animal. You know damned well....”</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated. Her eyes rested on the wine-glass, then raised abruptly
+to his once more. “Are you afraid? I’ll pay you, Regan, so why be
+afraid?” Her tone grew mocking. “Unless of course you’re a deeply
+religious man....”</p>
+
+<p>“Don’t talk like that,” he growled.</p>
+
+<p>“Then answer me! Yes or no!”</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated. He thought about his empty stomach, his dirty shack, his
+feeling that he was the last hunter in the village and that he was
+going to have to get money to ship out, or else starve. What the hell
+if it was sacred animal ... he....</p>
+
+<p>“All right,” he said quietly.</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. “That’s wonderful. Do you think we’ll have any trouble?
+Guards? Anything like that....” Her eyes gleamed brightly, greedily,
+and Regan did not like the look in them.</p>
+
+<p>He pushed back his chair and got up. “No trouble at all. They don’t
+guard the Preserve.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?” She was startled.</p>
+
+<p>“The Venusians are a trusting people,” he said sarcastically. “They
+believe a Terran wouldn’t shoot a red roe for the same reason a
+Venusian wouldn’t go inside a Terran church and steal a gold cross.
+Trusting....” He laughed shortly.</p>
+
+<p>“It’s sport, Regan,” she said as she followed him out of the cafe
+and along the gray, cobbled street through the fog. “The sport of
+hunting ... and stalking ... and killing....” Her voice dropped
+to a low, savage whisper and he saw her fingers clenched tightly
+until the skin of her palms was as red as the blood color of her nails.</p>
+
+<p>They reached the small inn. He turned quickly to her. “Be ready at six
+tomorrow morning. We can reach the place by noon. You know what wear.
+Anti-disease suit, all the rest.”</p>
+
+<p>She nodded. Her tiny pink tongue rested lightly on her lips for a
+moment. “Thank you, Regan. There may be more than hunting to be had.”</p>
+
+<p>Something recoiled within him. He turned sharply on his heel. “Six
+tomorrow,” he said without turning around. He felt that her eyes were
+digging into his back, watching him as he walked along the street.
+What the hell, Regan, he kept saying, you’ve got to ship out. Are you
+religious? What the hell difference does it make? ... What? ...</p>
+
+<p>But somehow, deep down in his mind, something was sick at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>He reached the wall at the edge of the village. The Old Beggar was
+there, a gray-skinned Venusian holy man, blind, whom the villagers
+believed had prophetic powers. The Old Beggar lifted his ugly, gray
+eyepits and raised his bowl imploringly as Regan approached.</p>
+
+<p>“Coppers,” he wailed, shaking his matted hair, “coppers. Lord
+Regan....”</p>
+
+<p>Regan shivered and stopped. The Old Beggar had an uncanny way of
+recognizing people in the village by their steps. It made him nervous.
+Reluctantly, Regan dug down into his jacket pocket and came up with
+three of the triangular shaped coins. He tossed them into the bowl and
+started to walk on.</p>
+
+<p>The Old Beggar did not utter his customary word of thanks. His
+sightless eyes stared down at the bowl, his mouth hung slackly open,
+and abruptly he turned the bowl upside down and dumped the money out
+onto the muddy earth. He let out a high, piercing howl and one finger
+pointed shakily at Regan.</p>
+
+<p>“Unclean!” he howled. “Defiler! Killer of the red roe!”</p>
+
+<p>Regan’s stomach jerked up into knots. His fists clenched and he stared
+down at the old man, trembling. “Unclean!” the Old Beggar shouted
+again. Regan wanted to hit him, silence him, but something held him
+back. With unexplainable terror singing through every nerve in his
+body, Regan turned and ran out through the wall, and he did not stop
+until he had reached his shack at the edge of the jungle. He raced up
+the steps, slammed through the door, closed it and stood with his back
+against it, panting.</p>
+
+<p>Karal turned around from the tiny stove where he had been cooking the
+noon meal. His gray eyes went open in surprise. “Lord Regan!” he said
+quickly, rushing forward. “What has happened?”</p>
+
+<p>“Nothing, nothing....” Regan waved his hand and then rubbed his
+eyes. Karal stood before him, a slender, gray-skinned Venusian boy
+about fifteen years old. He was Regan’s helper on the hunts. Years
+before, Regan had found him floundering in the swamps upcountry, and had
+pulled him out. Karal, lost from his family who had been slain on a
+hunting expedition, seemed almost dead. From the time of the rescue,
+Karal had bound himself to Regan with stubborn and grateful loyalty.</p>
+
+<p>Regan stumbled forward and sat down at the rough, jungle-wood table.
+“Get me some coffee, will you?”</p>
+
+<p>Karal hurried to the stove and returned with a cup of the steaming
+brown liquid. Regan gulped it hastily. He kept his eyes on the
+tabletop. Somehow, he couldn’t look at Karal. Finally he said, “Get the
+stuff ready for tomorrow morning. Load up the truck.”</p>
+
+<p>Karal’s eyes gleamed excitedly. “A trip? A hunting trip?”</p>
+
+<p>“Yeah,” Regan said quietly. “A hunting trip.”</p>
+
+<p>“Where are we going?”</p>
+
+<p>Regan stared hard at the boy. “The Preserve.”</p>
+
+<p>“The....” An expression of shocked horror swept across the boy’s face.</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right,” Regan said quietly. “We’re going to get a red roe.”</p>
+
+<p>The boy lowered his head. He shook it unbelievingly. “Lord Regan ...
+I ... the red roe ... that is forbidden ... my people and their
+religion....”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen,” Regan said sharply, “there isn’t any law says you can’t shoot
+one of them. I need money and I’ve got a client who wants a red roe. I
+know how your people feel about it, but I’m a Terran and if you want to
+get out, go ahead.”</p>
+
+<p>There was sick disappointment in the boy’s eyes. He was silent for a
+moment. Finally, he spoke. “No, Lord Regan. I have bound myself to you.
+I will go....” He rose and walked slowly to the door. “I will make
+the truck ready,” he said as he vanished through the door.</p>
+
+<p>Regan sat staring into his cup of coffee. That had been hard, hurting
+the boy. His mind teetered back and forth. He was walking into the
+Preserve and killing the animal without feeling ... destroying a part
+of the native religion. But what about getting out of the village? That
+took money. He didn’t want to starve. He....</p>
+
+<p>Confused anger welled up within him. He lifted the filled cup and flung
+it hatefully against the wall. The cup rattled on the floor and the
+brown liquid spread out along the boards. Regan stared at it, his right
+hand opening and closing convulsively. Sweat droplets stood out on his
+forehead. “Goddam it,” he whispered savagely.</p>
+
+<hr class="tb">
+
+<p>Before dawn the next morning Regan, Karal and Mrs. Holloway rolled
+out of the village in the truck. All three were dressed in the gray,
+rubberish anti-disease suits. The rear of the truck was loaded with
+Regan’s weapons, ammunition, cooking equipment and Mrs. Holloway’s three
+Webb-Dangerfield
+Tri-power magnesium rifles. When Regan saw her equipment at the little
+inn, he allowed himself a faint feeling of admiration. The weapons were
+expensive. But they were also the very best in big-game hunting rifles.
+It was Regan’s dream that some day he could afford a Webb-Dangerfield.</p>
+
+<p>The truck rumbled through the bumpy streets. Mrs. Holloway, her blonde
+hair brushed back and tied at the nape of her neck, looked straight
+ahead, smoking. Karal sat staring glumly at the dash panel. He had
+said few words since the previous noon, and it made Regan feel all the
+worse. He had lost the boy’s respect, and he knew it.</p>
+
+<p>“How long will it take us to reach the Preserve?” Mrs. Holloway asked
+as they rolled through the edge of the village. Her eyes shone with
+expectancy.</p>
+
+<p>“About two hours,” Regan replied heavily.</p>
+
+<p>“Good.” She laughed a tiny laugh.</p>
+
+<p>To the left, Regan saw the circular tabernacle where the Venusians
+held their religious ceremonies. Through the open cab window and above
+the rumble of the motor, he heard a high, reedy piping of voices.
+The morning ceremony, he knew. Before them the thick veil of fog
+lifted. The headlights, as Regan spun the wheel for a turn, struck the
+tabernacle door. Carved into the pillars, Regan saw the figure of the
+sacred animal in various poses. The red roebuck, drinking, running,
+standing.... He turned his eyes quickly and jerked the wheel around.
+The tabernacle and the singing were lost in the fog as they left the
+village behind them.</p>
+
+<p>Two hours. Two hours of silent traveling, with only the roar of the
+motor. Two hours, while the dank rotting jungle rolled past, while
+occasional slimy rain ran in gummy streaks down the windshield and was
+cut away by the acid-coated wipers. Two hours, with the woman stretched
+out on the seat beside him, her long fleshy legs reaching under the
+dash, her eyes hungry. Two hours, with the boy Karal hanging his head,
+staring out the window with eyes that were strangely dead. Regan’s
+fingers were tension-white where he gripped the wheel. Two almost
+unendurable hours.</p>
+
+<p>At last they made camp in a small glade. Regan cooked the meal of
+artificial beef and vegetables. Mrs. Holloway stalked up and down the
+glade, slapping her gloves on her thigh, and Karal moved noiselessly
+back and forth, obeying Regan’s commands but not speaking. As they
+drank their coffee, Mrs. Holloway glanced up at the fog-shrouded crowns
+of the trees.</p>
+
+<p>She threw down the coffee cup and got to her feet. “Look, Regan, how
+far are we from the Preserve now?”</p>
+
+<p>He pointed wearily through the trees. “About an eighth of a mile.”</p>
+
+<p>“Then for God’s sake let’s go. I came here to hunt. That’s what you’re
+getting paid for. To lead a hunt.”</p>
+
+<p>Regan rose, kicked out the fire, and shouldered his rifle. “It isn’t
+going to be much of a hunt, I can tell you that. The red roes are
+pretty tame. You’ll just stand there and blast one down while it looks
+at you.” He said the words bitterly.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed again. “What’s the matter, Regan? Getting squeamish about
+the native hymn singers?” The laugh rose, tinkling, brittle, sharp. He
+suddenly had a wild urge to bring down his rifle butt and smash her
+face in. But he caught hold of himself. Remember, Regan, the cash, his
+mind whispered. Cash, cash, <i>cash</i>....</p>
+
+<p>He grumbled something. She glared at him, and he knew that she was
+aware of his feelings. Something new shone in her eyes now. It was no
+longer the guide-hunter relationship. There was something like personal
+animosity between them. They both sensed it. Regan shivered.</p>
+
+<p>A light footstep sounded behind him. He turned. Karal stood there.</p>
+
+<p>“What is it?” Regan asked.</p>
+
+<p>“Lord Regan,” the boy said, keeping his eyes on the ground, “I wish to
+ask if I may be allowed to remain here.”</p>
+
+<p>“Why?”</p>
+
+<p>The boy raised his eyes and stared hard at Regan. “I do not wish to see
+the red roe slain,” he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“All right. Stay here,” Regan said, conscious of the tense snarling
+quality of his voice. He turned to Mrs. Holloway. “Let’s get this over.”</p>
+
+<p>He led the way out of the glade onto a narrow trail. Mrs. Holloway
+tramped along behind him, their boots making slogging sounds in the
+thick, greasy mud. Insects flitted around Regan, darting toward his
+face. He slapped at one and his hand came away covered with pulp and
+blood. He tramped on, the fog whirling in gray ropes around him, trying
+to forget the woman behind him. But he kept hearing the sound of her
+boots, kept hearing the small, tuneless melody she was humming.</p>
+
+<p>The tall trees thinned out abruptly, and ahead of them were smaller,
+younger trees, delicately formed, with large sensuous blossoms drooping
+in the steamy air. The colors were riotously flamboyant, blobs of green
+and gold and orange and sky blue hanging suspended from thin gray
+limbs. A heady wine-smelling perfume floated on the air. The place
+had the appearance of a strange and alien garden, with the fog floating
+close to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Holloway unslung the Webb-Dangerfield from her shoulder, threw
+the safety off and peered into the maze of small trees. “Is this the
+Preserve?” she asked quietly.</p>
+
+<p>“This is it,” Regan replied. Wearily, he unslung his rifle also and got
+it ready for firing. “We might as well go in, Mrs. Holloway.”</p>
+
+<p>She turned to him, her eyes narrowing in the shadowy gloom. She studied
+him and the harsh corners of her mouth curled upward in a little smile.
+“You’re afraid,” she whispered, almost wonderingly. “Regan, you’re
+afraid.”</p>
+
+<p>“That’s right,” he said softly, and started to walk forward.</p>
+
+<p>This was another world, this strange and brilliant garden in the midst
+of the gray jungles. Large fan-plumed birds sat on the blossom-covered
+branches, singing in high, clear tones, spreading their tail feathers
+and puffing out their chests. The boots of Regan and Mrs. Holloway
+stirred eddies of fog.</p>
+
+<p>Abruptly Regan stopped. A shape materialized in the fog up ahead. With
+a finger to his lips, Regan started forward again. They had not taken
+more than a half dozen steps when he stopped a second time and pointed.
+“There. The red roebuck.”</p>
+
+<p>The beast was directly in front of them, with its head turned in their
+direction. Regan breathed in a wondering sigh. He had never seen
+one before. Almost miraculously, the mist had parted and the beast
+stood there, its magnificent reddish coat glowing softly, its great
+rust-brown horns thrusting up from its head. The snout was long, and
+the eyes were brown-red, large, shot through with flecks of gold. They
+looked ... Regan shivered ... they looked almost human.</p>
+
+<p>The beast certainly resembled a Terran roebuck, but it was evident
+that this animal was much, much different. The strange glowing coat,
+the eyes that seemed to thrust into Regan’s soul, full of peace and
+gentleness ... they were not of Earth. This was a beast of a strange
+world. A beautiful beast.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Holloway laughed, and Regan suddenly felt as if he had been
+sprayed with filth. He turned toward her, to tell her again that the
+beast would not run, and that all she would have to do was shoot it
+down where it stood. There was a smile on Mrs. Holloway’s wet, red lips
+as Regan turned. The Webb-Dangerfield was pointed straight at Regan’s
+belly.</p>
+
+<p>“What the hell....” he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“Regan, I’ve found better sport than the red roe. You!”</p>
+
+<p>“Listen, Mrs. Holloway....” He took a step forward. She tensed.</p>
+
+<p>“I’ll shoot you, Regan. I’m serious.”</p>
+
+<p>“What’s the game?”</p>
+
+<p>“Still the roebuck.” Her mouth curled into the devil-smile. “But I want
+you to kill it for me. I want you to shoot it down, Regan. <i>You!</i>”</p>
+
+<p>He let out a curse and started forward. The Webb-Dangerfield exploded.
+He was blinded for an instant as the sizzling ball of white-hot fire
+ripped by his shoulder, scorching the rubber suit.</p>
+
+<p>“You don’t want to die, Regan,” she said. “You want to live. You’re
+a weak man, Regan. Just kill the red roe, and I’ll pay you double.
+<i>Double</i>, Regan. And give you one of my rifles. In my world, Regan, there
+is nothing but sport. Pursuit of sport. I’ve never found anything like
+this before. I mean to take advantage of it....”</p>
+
+<p>“You’re crazy,” he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>“Perhaps I am, a little,” she replied. “But who isn’t, in one way or
+another?” Her tone grew commanding. The round muzzle poked at Regan.
+“Go ahead. Raise your rifle and kill the animal.”</p>
+
+<p>It would be so easy, he thought, quickly and terribly. Easy, Regan,
+easy, you’ll get out alive if you do it for her. And a Webb-Dangerfield
+in the bargain. Think, man, think.... He turned slowly to stare at
+the roebuck, waiting there before them, its coat shining, its eyes full
+of that strange, magnificent peace and gentleness.</p>
+
+<p>He swallowed. His stomach was cold. Unsteadily, he raised the rifle
+in the direction of the roebuck. “That’s it, Regan,” he heard Mrs.
+Holloway crooning, “that’s it, Regan, go ahead, go ahead, kill it, kill
+it, kill it, Regan....”</p>
+
+<p>His finger tightened on the trigger. The sweat ran down under his arms.
+The eye of the roebuck was centered in his ring sight, large, round,
+brown-red, flecked with gold. Suddenly, Regan thought of the Old Beggar
+at the wall of the village, of Karal the boy who had been his friend.
+He thought of the tabernacle and the reedy voices and he thought of
+this mad woman holding her weapon trained upon him.</p>
+
+<p>He squinted down the barrel. Somehow, the beast’s eye seemed to grow,
+grow and enfold him. That eye, so full of peace, so full of a gentle
+spirit, a spirit of humble patience ... a spirit.... Something
+whispered in Regan’s mind in a voice of terrible fear, That is the eye
+of God. <i>That is the eye of God!</i></p>
+
+<p>And his stomach jumped and revolted at the thought of slaying the beast.</p>
+
+<p>He whirled, and Mrs. Holloway’s head was in the ring sight of his
+weapon.</p>
+
+<p>She screamed and fired. The blast ripped out in white fury, blinding
+him, and he felt fire tear his leg. He ground his teeth together to
+keep from screaming with pain. Mrs. Holloway was cursing him obscenely,
+wildly, and readying another blast when Regan fired. The thunder echoed
+and re-echoed through the tiny garden. Slowly, the blinding glare
+vanished from before his eyes and he lowered his rifle.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Holloway was spilling her blood out onto the ground.</p>
+
+<p>Wearily, feeling the pain in his leg, seeing the scorched black hole
+in his flesh, Regan turned back to the red roebuck. It still stood
+there, its feet caught in fog, its mighty head raised toward the sky,
+listening. Regan threw his rifle to the ground.</p>
+
+<p>The roebuck stood still for one more split instant, and then it leaped,
+long and far, rising up and up in its great leap and disappearing into
+the fog and the blossom-laden garden. Regan took one more look at the
+dead, mangled corpse of the woman, and turned and walked back toward
+the truck.</p>
+
+<p>Karal rose from the ashes of the dead fire to meet him. Anxiously,
+he looked at the ragged black wound in Regan’s leg. The hunter stood
+looking down at the boy. “The roebuck is alive,” he said. “We did not
+kill it.” The fires of faith relit themselves in the boy’s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Karal drove the truck back to the village. Regan ordered him to drive
+to the wall. There Regan, his body filled with terrible pain, climbed
+down and approached the Old Beggar. The Venusian lifted his sightless
+face. Regan stood before him, tottering.</p>
+
+<p>“I’m clean,” he gasped. “The roebuck lives....”</p>
+
+<p>“I know.” The Old Beggar nodded his head slowly. “Peace, Lord Regan,”
+he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>Regan turned around, the pain welling up in him, took a step, and
+teetered forward. The muddy earth rose to meet and swallow him....</p>
+
+<p>Gradually the ragged wound healed. There was talk in the village,
+much talk. But one day a rocket burned down out of the gray fog, and
+a thin, small, gold-spectacled man in a rumpled white suit appeared
+at Regan’s bed. His name was Vincent Holloway. Regan told his story,
+omitting nothing. When it was over, Holloway told the hunter of even
+more terrible things, of the strange savage he had found in the woman
+who had been his wife in name only. Mrs. Holloway had even spent one
+year in an asylum on Mars. The small, gold-spectacled man had sad,
+regretful eyes when he went away. Vincent Holloway collected a suitcase
+full of clothing from the inn and got back into the rocket and vanished
+in a trail of orange fire among the fog-hung tree crowns. The jury of
+Venusian governmental inquiring into the woman’s death returned the
+decision of self-protection.</p>
+
+<p>Regan still had two Webb-Dangerfields in the truck. He sold one. That
+bought passage to Red Sands on Mars, for himself as well as for the boy
+Karal. The two of them got on the rocket, Regan leaning unsteadily on
+a cane, but feeling the fibres of his leg knitting, healing, growing
+back together. Regan stood at the watchport as the rocket rose from
+the village. His hand rested on the boy’s shoulder. He stared down at
+the jungle, glad he was leaving, tremendously glad to leave the tiny
+village, the jungle, the fog-world. The engines drummed as the rocket
+rose toward the top of the fog.</p>
+
+<p>Regan stared down and down into the swirling grayness, and one thought
+went around and around in his mind. He knew he could never forget.
+Something in his soul had been wrenched forever. Where he had been only
+stumbling before, now he was certain. There was a something in him that
+now told clearly the difference between good and evil in a man’s life.
+A something that was round, gold-flecked, full of peace and gentleness.
+And as the engines thundered and the rocket rose, Regan thought, over
+and over, <i>it was the eye of God</i>....</p>
+
+
+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">
+<div class="chapter"></div><div class="transnote">
+  <h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_note">
+    Transcriber’s note:
+  </h2>
+
+
+
+<blockquote>
+<p>This etext was produced from Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader,
+April 1953 (Vol. 1, no. 2).</p>
+
+<p>Obvious errors have been silently corrected in this version, but
+minor inconsistencies have been retained as printed.</p>
+</blockquote>
+</div>
+<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78910 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
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+This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
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+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+
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+[Project Gutenberg](https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook [#78910](https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78910)