Planet of Death

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Roy Crawford felt the firm, new snow crunch under his boots. He stepped forward carefully, keeping his eyes sharp. In his hand he held a deadly needle-gun.

Six other hunters were fanned out beside him on the field of snow. He was the leader. This was a dangerous business, and a lot depended on him.

“It’s a bad day,” said a hunter to his left. “We haven’t seen a single yang.”

“Don’t worry,” Crawford snapped. “We’ll get plenty before we’re through.”

He knew that they would. Roy Crawford had been hunting yangs on the planet Velliran for three years now. It was a rough, exciting way to make a living. You risked your life to shoot the yangs—but you could get rich that way. Yangskins made beautiful fur coats. Women back on Earth were willing to pay good money for a yangskin coat.

“There’s one now!” shouted one of the hunters.

Yes! There came a yang! Roy Crawford narrowed his eyes and stared at the lovely, deadly beast.

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