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 May wind. "There they go. Right on time," said William Karsten III. His hunting jacket shone bright red in the early morning sun as he moved out into the open to watch the planes. "I do hope that they don't get airsick," replied Thomas Thurman from his comfortable chair in front of the fire. He took a long stick and began poking the embers closer to the coffee container. William Karsten turned around and looked at his companion. "Why in heaven's name should you be so concerned about _them_?" he asked. The early morning light on his brown-and-gray hair gave it a more youthful appearance than it usually had. "They don't hunt very well when they're sick," said Thurman. "And that of course, is my only concern for them." He smiled at his hunting partner, then motioned him over to the fire. "Have a cup of coffee while we're waiting." Karsten walked over to the center of the little forest clearing where they 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 to create, 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 take care of things for you? I'm getting hungry." Thurman laughed at him. "If you'd worry more about where we're going to hunt instead of spending all your time thinking about your stomach, we'd probably have better luck," he said. He poured a cup of sweet brown 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, his heavy-set body shaking gently with the expressed mirth. "If the worst comes 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 down comfortably on a collapsible chair and looked around him. He could just see the top of a tall metal fence a few hundred yards away--the stout circle of steel that engirdled the Game Preserve, cutting it off from the rest of the world.