Cosmic Kill

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Lon Archman waited tensely for the Martian to come nearer: Around him, the ancient world’s hell-winds whined piercingly. Archman shivered involuntarily and squeezed tighter on the butt of the zam-gun.

One shot. He had one shot left. And if the Martian were to fire before he did—

The wind picked up the red sand and tossed it at him as he crouched behind the twisted gabron-weed. The Martian advanced steadily, its heavy body swung forward in a low crouch. It was still out of range of the zam-gun. Archman didn’t dare fire yet, not with only one charge left.

A gust of devilish wind blew more sand in the Earthman’s face. He spat and dug at his eyes. A little undercurrent of fear beat in the back of his mind. He shoved the emotion away. Fear and Lon Archman didn’t mix.

But where the blazes was that Martian?

Ah—there. Stooping now behind the clump of gabron-weed. Inching forward on his belly toward Archman now. Archman could almost see the hill-creature’s tusks glinting in the dim light. His finger wavered on the zam-gun’s trigger. Again a gust of wind tossed sand in his eyes.

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