Hunting License

Emmett Packer, registered hunting guide, came from behind a clump of bushes into the little clearing in the woods. His bright yellow hunting jacket reflected a dazzling pattern of sunlight and shadows in striking contrast to the man's weathered complexion and dark black hair. He waved a muscular arm at his employers.

"Sorry I took so long, boys," he said, walking towards them. "But I had trouble getting the Warden on the car telephone. The line was busy." Emmett poured himself a cup of coffee. "But I finally got ahold of him, and he'll be along in a little while. And the horses are all lined up for us at the Gate. So we shouldn't have any trouble at all."

"Good," said Thurman.

Emmett smiled, "And now, I suppose you boys would like a little breakfast?" Emmett said it not quite as a question, but more as an assertion of a known fact.

"Of course, of course," said Karsten. "I'm starving. Got to have energy to hunt, you know." He smiled jovially.

Emmett set about opening canisters and boxes in preparation of the meal. Thurman and Karsten leaned back in their comfortable chairs and stared at the scenery. Overhead one last helicopter droned by. In the tall forest grass a cricket chirped angrily.

"How would you like your steaks?" asked Emmett.

"Medium," said Thurman.

"A little on the rare side, if you can manage it," said Karsten. "And no onions for me. They give me indigestion." He glanced nervously at his watch. "I wonder if I'll have time to call the office before the Warden gets here?"

Tom Thurman smiled. "Relax," he said. "Your office can take care of itself for a change."

"Well, I guess it can, but--"

"Then why worry about it," said Thurman. "Forget it. Make the most of your vacation. After all, it isn't every day in the year that you come hunting humans, you know."

Shrugging his shoulders for an answer, William Karsten relaxed again. The aroma of the cooking meat permeated the morning breeze, mingling with the subtler smells of pine and warm rich earth. In the nearby trees birds sang out loud.

"Wonder how many we'll get this year?" asked Thurman after a while.

Emmett looked up from his chores. "If you boys will just follow my directions, you'll get the limit." He smiled proudly. "My hunters always come back with the limit. You know that."

Karsten harrumphed. "I saw some of the sorry specimens you dug up for the Kilpatricks last year. And I must say," he continued, "they were the poorest excuses for human beings I've ever seen."

Emmett frowned and started to answer, but Thurman spoke first. "That reminds me, Bill. If we bring back any bodies this year, Martha says we'll have to wrap them up first."

"What's the matter with Martha?" asked Karsten. "She doesn't really object to the sight of naked bodies lashed to the front fenders of your car, does she?"

With a laugh, Thomas Thurman said, "No. Martha doesn't object to our displaying the spoils of the hunt. But she says that last year the blood spoiled the finish of the car. And I don't want to have it repainted again this year." He sighed softly. "Just one of her whims, I guess."

"Breakfast is ready," said Emmett.

The high-pitched whine of rotor blades interrupted their meal. The three men watched the bright blue helicopter drop slowly out of the sky and come to a gentle landing at one edge of the clearing. Once the plane's engine had stopped and the blades were no longer twirling, the door to the air-craft opened and out stepped a rotund figure dressed in a uniform the same sky-blue color as that of the plane. He bounced, more than walked, towards the seated trio.

"Good day! Good day, gentlemen!" the Warden called out as soon as he was within earshot. "Oh, please don't get up on my account."

Thurman motioned with one hand. "Have a seat, Warden. We're glad to see you."

The Warden plopped his pudgy body down in one of the chairs. "Thank you," he said, his voice as round and as jolly as his appearance. "Having breakfast, I see." He waved a hand "Oh, please don't offer me anything to eat. I'm on a diet again." He sighed.

Emmett rose to get the papers that the officer would want to see. "How's the crop this year, Warden?" he asked.

A frown crossed the fat man's face. "Fair. Just fair," he said. "I can't understand it, really. A few years ago there were so many of them." His face brightened a bit. "But, then, there's still enough to go around, and that's the important thing. And, on the other hand, I suppose that we ought to be happy--from the sociological point of view, of course--that there just aren't as many criminals in our society today as there used to be. It speaks well for us, don't you think?"

William Karsten III made a slight noise with his tongue. "But it ruins the hunting. You can't have a hunt unless you've got criminals to hunt for." He turned to his companion. "You see, Tom," he said. "I told you that it wouldn't be too good this year."

"I wonder what's wrong with things nowadays that there just aren't enough criminals?" mused Thurman.