We Run From The Hunted!
By Darius John Granger
Running a hunting camp on Venus appeared
to be a good deal. But like any business, you
had to attract customers—and maybe a Wompan!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
August 1956
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I dabbed at the nick on my jaw with a towel and said, "Ouch! Do you always have to read to me when I'm shaving?"
"Shaving," Harry Conger scoffed. "That's just it, shaving. Why can't you use dipilator, like ordinary people? What do you expect when you use an archaic razor?"
"I happen to like the feel of a razor."
"Well, it's the same with .30-.30 rifles instead of blasters," Harry said, still riding me. "The best the twenty-first century has to offer isn't good enough for you. Oh, no." He shoved the accumulation of unpaid bills in front of my face while I put the razor away and asked me, "What do you expect to pay these with—twentieth century coin of the realm?"
"O.K.," I said. "Lay off. So we happen to be a little behind in a few payments."