"Insufficient forage, I guess. You'll see."
I picked up my .22 Hornet rifle and started for the door. "No time like
the present to--" I began to say.
Mike was still grinning in the irritating manner he'd been displaying
ever since the night before. "You won't need that gun," he told me.
"I'll just take it along anyway," I snapped.
* * * * *
After leaving the dome through one of the airlocks, I headed out onto
the surface of Mars, weighted down with my leaded boots, standard
equipment for cutting down some of the effect of the one-sixth gravity
of the planet.
Over to the westward, possibly three miles away, seemed to be a barren,
rocky area. I knew that Mike Holiday wouldn't have deliberately lied
to me, that was where zloors were to be found. I made my way in that
direction.
"About the size of a rabbit," I muttered. "And half the hunters on
earth can't bring one back."
I made the rocky area and found myself a suitable prominence from which
to look around. In less than fifteen minutes, I'd spotted one of the
things. They were about the size of a rabbit all right, and what was
more they looked considerably like one of the earth type rodents--long
ears, nub of a tail. I watched it for some time through the small glass
I'd borrowed from Mike.
It was evidently eating the bark, and possibly the wood as well, of a
stunted, rugged looking Martian tree which seemed to be growing out of
almost solid rock.
The boys had said that there were a lot of zloors around so I didn't
have to worry about conversion. I took up the rifle, aimed carefully
through the scope and squeezed the trigger. I was interested,
eventually, in getting a live zloor, but it wouldn't hurt to have a
closer look at one of the things to help me in planning my campaign.
The gun snapped and I could see the tiny bullet spank into the little
animal's side. I'd got him!
But something didn't look right. I took up the telescope again and
peered through it. The zloor was still eating.
That stopped me. I could have sworn that I'd hit it, right amidships.
I aimed even more carefully this time, for its head, and squeezed
gently. That shot, too, hit dead center.
But the zloor didn't bother to stop its feeding.
I sat there a long time staring at it. Finally I snorted inwardly.
Obviously, this was what had been stopping the others--this animal had
some very effective natural body armor. Well--there is more than one
way of skinning a zloor, as well as a cat.
I picked up the rifle and headed down toward the tree and the animal
that was devouring it, figuring to get as close as possible with the
idea of getting a really good look at the bulletproof beastie. I
wished, now, that I'd brought my .257 Roberts instead of the .22 Hornet.
At first I was careful in my approach, slipping from cover to
cover; but as I got closer it became evident that the zloor wasn't
particularly timid and that as far as it was concerned I could come as
near as I wanted.
I stood off about five feet and watched it for a long time. Once it
looked up and over at me, but then went back to the tree in which it
was making a respectable hole.
I tried once again with the rifle, aiming carefully right behind its
ear. The gun snapped, and the bullet thudded--but the zloor ignored it.
"Holy Wodo," I snorted. "He's _really_ bulletproof."
In fact, he was more than just bulletproof. The _shock_ of the impact
of the high powered twenty-two hadn't even bothered him, it wasn't just
a matter of the bullet's inability to penetrate the hide.
"Well," I told myself. "Let's see just how close I _can_ come before it
runs off."
* * * * *
I walked up to him cautiously. He didn't move. In my surprise, I even
prodded him gently with my shoe. He still didn't move. He looked up at
me again, his eyes a wistful yellowish color, then went back to his
meal.
I shook my head, wondering if I was still suffering from the effects of
the woji binge, or what. This was just too easy--maybe it was a sick
one or something.