Gilbert smiled grimly. "The Earth government--such as it is--considers extra-terrestrials too civilized to commit crimes. Also, extra-terrestrial hunters are responsible for most of Earth's income. This is a poor planet, Mr. Mulveen: civilization and then the attempt to keep up with civilization, has drained it." "You know a lot for a kid." "But that isn't what I'm getting five thousand credits for." "Here," Mulveen said. He gave Gilbert one of the rifles, which had been cleaned during supper by the boys. He gave Gilbert a cartridge belt. "Here." "I don't get it," Gilbert said. "If no game on Earth holds a thrill for me, no game anywhere in the galaxy will. The five thousand is yours if you do." Mulveen took another drink, poured again, drank again, poured.... "If I do what?" "Get out of camp," Mulveen said. "I'll come for you in the morning." "Come for me...?" "Come hunting, Gilbert. I've never hunted a human being before. On Earth I think I can get away with it. Well, can't I?" Gilbert felt his pulses hammering. It was a drunken impulse, but Mulveen would go through with it. Gilbert was, despite his age, an expert guide. Mulveen was a crack hunter. Five thousand credits.... "To the death?" Gilbert asked. "I wouldn't be playing games. Hell, yes." "What if I get killed?" "I'll put it in writing. The credits go to whatever person you name, in the event of your death." Gilbert thought, _if I'm dead I won't need the credits, but if I live, if I win, those credits can buy me a new way of life...._ Five thousand credits.... "Can I fight back?" Gilbert heard himself asking. "Does an animal? Of course you can. I'll also put in writing that you're not responsible in the event of my death. What do you say, boy? What do you say?" The swamp smell was thick on the still, heavy air of night. Insects buzzed and sawed off in the darkness. Mulveen was breathing heavily, impatiently, consumed by the fires of his idea. "Well?" Gilbert broke the silence by holding the rifle up to the firelight and bolting open the chamber. A fresh clip of ammo was in place. "Didn't trust me?" Mulveen asked. "Should I have?" "Up to this minute, sure. But if your answer is yes, stop trusting me about anything. Because then you're on your own." "For how long?" Gilbert asked. "A day?" "Day, hell. Till I get you--or you get me." "And you'll have the beaters, the boys?" "I paid for them, didn't I?" Gilbert nodded. The night beckoned. He took his rifle and left camp. Mulveen wrote the agreement. * * * * * He had not gone very far until he realized he was being followed. Already? he thought. He slipped silently off the trail and waited in the hot, sweat-producing darkness. Footsteps came along the trail. Gilbert saw a shadowy figure. Too small for Mulveen. Gilbert waited until the figure was abreast of him, then leaped.