"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....