"You come hunting for the same reason that I do, Bill Karsten. Because you love the thrill of the sport," Thurman told him. "Because there's nothing like it in the world--the bright open air, the smell of a green 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 in mid-sentence, interrupted by the sound of trampled underbrush. "Oh, here's Emmett back." * * * * * Emmett Packer, registered hunting guide, came from behind a clump of bushes into the little clearing in the woods. His bright yellow hunting jacket reflected a dazzling pattern of sunlight and shadows in striking contrast to the man's weathered complexion and dark black hair. He waved a muscular arm at his employers. "Sorry I took so long, boys," he said, walking towards them. "But I had trouble getting the Warden on the car telephone. The line was busy." Emmett poured himself a cup of coffee. "But I finally got ahold of him, and he'll be along in a little while. And the horses are all lined up for us at the Gate. So we shouldn't have any trouble at all." "Good," said Thurman. Emmett smiled, "And now, I suppose you boys would like a little breakfast?" Emmett said it not quite as a question, but more as an assertion of a known fact. "Of course, of course," said Karsten. "I'm starving. Got to have energy to hunt, you know." He smiled jovially. Emmett set about opening canisters and boxes in preparation of the meal. Thurman and Karsten leaned back in their comfortable chairs and stared at the scenery. Overhead one last helicopter droned by. In the tall forest grass a cricket chirped angrily. "How would you like your steaks?" asked Emmett. "Medium," said Thurman. "A little on the rare side, if you can manage it," said Karsten. "And no onions for me. They give me indigestion." He glanced nervously at his watch. "I wonder if I'll have time to call the office before the Warden gets here?" Tom Thurman smiled. "Relax," he said. "Your office can take care of itself for a change." "Well, I guess it can, but--" "Then why worry about it," said Thurman. "Forget it. Make the most of your vacation. After all, it isn't every day in the year that you come hunting humans, you know." Shrugging his shoulders for an answer, William Karsten relaxed again. The aroma of the cooking meat permeated the morning breeze, mingling with the subtler smells of pine and warm rich earth. In the nearby trees birds sang out loud. "Wonder how many we'll get this year?" asked Thurman after a while. Emmett looked up from his chores. "If you boys will just follow my directions, you'll get the limit." He smiled proudly. "My hunters _always_ come back with the limit. You know that." Karsten harrumphed. "I saw some of the sorry specimens you dug up for the Kilpatricks last year. And I must say," he continued, "they were the poorest excuses for human beings I've ever seen."