HUNTING LICENSE
By James V. McConnell
Trophies from a big game hunt were highly
prized. So naturally Karsten and Thurman wanted
their guide to find a really choice criminal....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
April 1955
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The helicopters buzzed lazily overhead like fat flies in a warm Maywind.
"There they go. Right on time," said William Karsten III. His huntingjacket shone bright red in the early morning sun as he moved out intothe open to watch the planes.
"I do hope that they don't get airsick," replied Thomas Thurman fromhis comfortable chair in front of the fire. He took a long stick andbegan poking the embers closer to the coffee container.
William Karsten turned around and looked at his companion. "Why inheaven's name should you be so concerned about them?" he asked. Theearly morning light on his brown-and-gray hair gave it a more youthfulappearance than it usually had.
"They don't hunt very well when they're sick," said Thurman. "Andthat of course, is my only concern for them." He smiled at his huntingpartner, then motioned him over to the fire. "Have a cup of coffeewhile we're waiting."
Karsten walked over to the center of the little forest clearing wherethey had built the fire. "Might as well have a cup, I guess," he said.His face, furrowed with deep lines that had taken half a life-time tocreate, wore a slight frown. "But I wish that Emmett would get back.What's the sense of hiring a hunting guide if he's not around to takecare of things for you? I'm getting hungry."
Thurman laughed at him. "If you'd worry more about where we're goingto hunt instead of spending all your time thinking about your stomach,we'd probably have better luck," he said. He poured a cup of sweetbrown coffee for both of them, then passed one of the cups to Karsten."Emmett probably couldn't get the Warden on the phone right away."Thurman, who had once been something of an athlete, began to laugh, hisheavy-set body shaking gently with the expressed mirth. "If the worstcomes to the worst, Bill, we could fix our own breakfast, you know."
Karsten uttered a sigh. "Hunting just isn't what it used to be.Sometimes I wonder why I bother to come out at all." He settled downcomfortably on a collapsible chair and looked around him. He could justsee the top of a tall metal fence a few hundred yards away—the stoutcircle of steel that engirdled the Game Preserve, cutting it off fromthe rest of the world.
"You come hunting for the same reason that I do, Bill Karsten. Becauseyou love the thrill of the sport," Thurman told him. "Because there'snothing like it in the world—the bright open air, the smell of agreen forest, and the pleasure of pitting yourself against the hunted.That's why you come hunting."
Karsten shrugged. "I suppose you're right, but—" He stopped inmid-sentence, interrupted by the sound of trampled underbrush. "Oh,here's Emmett back."
Emmett Packer, registered hunting guide, came from behind a clump ofbushes into the little clearing in the woods. His bright yellow huntingjacket reflected a dazzling pattern of sunlight and shadows in strikingcontrast to the man's weathered complexion and dark black hair. Hewaved a muscular arm at his employers.
"Sorry I took so long, boys," he said, walking towards them. "But I hadtrouble getting the Warden