Calling World-4 of Kithgol!
By H. B. FYFE
Accidentally, Yorgh sent whirling
off into space a grim, 200-year-old
message ... and lived to see his
dead world meet the vibrant future.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories January 1952.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
The Star was obscured by blowing sand, and Yorgh could not see much of The World either. The wolly he rode snorted in panic at the howl of the sandstorm. Finally, the big hunter swung down to the ground and dragged the six-legged beast by the guide rope.
"Where are those trees I passed this morning?" he muttered.
He longed for a drink from the water-skin slung at his shoulder with his rolled cloak, but there was so much sand in his short, golden beard that he would probably choke himself.
The sand whipped against his gray pants of coarse wool and the dark red tunic for which he had given the Sea People two dozen copper arrowheads, and twirled loosely beneath his calf-high leather boots. Yorgh squinted his eyes till they were mere gleams of bright blue among the laughter wrinkles.
"And I didn't even find the copper rocks!" he growled. "I should have stayed in the flatlands, hunting with the others."