The Huntress by Richard R. Smith _We have read a good many vampire tales by reading-lamp radiance, with the wind whistling eerily in the eaves, and a steeple bell tolling from afar. But seldom have we read such a vampire thriller as this, with its aura of billboards, weather, hitchhiking and quite realizable future science. This is Mr. Smith's third story for us, and with each new yarn his stature has grown._ =She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and in her eyes was a promise of paradise. But to live in paradise a man must die.= My headlights silhouetted her against the dark-surfaced billboard and even at sixty miles an hour, I could see she had curves and a thumb in the traditional position of a hitch-hiker. I passed her, wonderingly. Then, on a sudden impulse, I stopped the car and backed up. She opened the door, threw a suitcase on the back seat, slid across the front seat until she bumped against my arm and said, “Thanks.” It was too dark to see her face, so I mumbled something and started down the highway again. “Where are you going?” I asked. “No place special.” Her voice was soft, warm and joyous as if ready to burst into laughter at any moment. “Where are _you_ going?” she asked. “No place special.” It was a lie, but it sounded good. Actually, I had a very special destination: my home, wife and kids were approximately fifty miles down the highway. I broke open a pack of cigarettes and thrust it toward her. She accepted the offer. She lit my cigarette, then her own. “Are you a salesman?” It was meant to be a question but some inflection in her voice made it sound like a statement. “How did you know?” I asked. “A guess. I saw your briefcase and papers on the back seat. What do you sell?” Her perfume thrilled me. It was different than any I’d ever smelled. Would _exotic_ describe it? It was as if the most exciting scents from a hundred types of flowers had been mingled in just the right proportions. “I sell paints,” I told her. “Not door to door, but to big businesses and factories that need a lot of paint.” We talked for the next two hours. Some people talk about the weather, politics and sports. She and I talked about destiny, the ecstasies of life, space travel and alien civilizations. We talked about how it feels to kill something, to fear the unknown, to die, to love and to be drunk. We even discussed jungles, work, pain and types of people. It was the most interesting conversation of my life. It was so interesting that I drove fifty-four miles in the wrong direction before I realized where I was. I stopped the car and glanced in the rear-view mirror. My house was only a few miles from the highway. A small side-road leads directly to the front porch. That side-road was now fifty-four miles behind the car. “What’s the matter?” she asked in a soft voice. “I was so busy talking to you that I drove fifty miles out of my way!” “I’m sorry.”