You'll Like It on Mars

by Tom W. Harris

I climbed down inside the grounds and started toward the house, where a couple of lights were on. The moon was low and very bright. I didn't crouch or skulk along. I figured the tawny would spot me sooner or later, and I'd rather it didn't happen when my back was turned and I was looking in a window.

I began to sweat a little.

I was about halfway to the house when I saw the tawny. It was coming toward me, from behind the house a quarter-mile away. I crouched and started a trot, and that seemed to attract it. It came in long, clumsy bounds, and I could hear it huffing.

It was time to try the stunt from the old movie. The flick showed some jungle joes hunting boar. This character was kneeling on the ground with a spear in his hands. The butt was braced against the ground and the point was toward the boar. The boar was charging. The idea seemed to be that it would spit itself.

The tawny was close and I ran. I wanted him coming at a nice clip when he hit my spear. I was between him and the moon, which I hoped would keep him from seeing what he was running into.

I glanced over my shoulder and he was almost on me, coming like a roller-coaster. I whirled, knelt, and raised the pointed rod.

The tawny took a terrific bound. I guess he thought he had me. He went right over me, right over the spear, hit the ground and started rolling.

I got my legs going, covering ground in the opposite direction. Glancing back, I saw the tawny getting up. His mouths were opening and closing, but he wasn't making any noise. Couldn't, I guess, because of some Earth difference, or his wind knocked out. It was obvious that he wanted to.

This time he came like two roller-coasters and probably a rocket. I jammed the butt of my spear down solid and shut my eyes. There was a big thud. I opened my eyes. He had run the bar right through him and was still coming, sliding right on down it. There was a hissing and rushing, and clouds of violet vapor spurting from the puncture in him.

I got the hell out of there. Finally I stopped running and looked back. He was staggering in ragged rings, his mouth gnashing at the bar, moving slower and slower like a machine running down. He stumbled into some little bushes, tangled, toppled, and there was a thrashing. The air stunk with the escaping vapor. The thrashing quieted.