A Zloor For Your Trouble By Mack Reynolds Prescott stood to make a young fortune if he could capture a martian zloor—dead or alive! Was there a catch to it? Only for the hunter!... [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy January 1954 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] I was sitting on the cot in the little room at the rear of my hangarage, where I keep my equipment and most of my trophies, and cleaning my .257 Roberts when the knock came at the door. It was a sharp, decisive knock. Then the door opened and I saw Westley Marks for the first time. It didn't excite me. He said, "Mr. Napoleon Prescott?" I began to say, "Everybody calls me Nap," but then I didn't. There was something about this guy that didn't click with me. Say what you will against snap judgments, I still take my love at first sight and enmity often the same way. For one thing, he gave me the impression of looking for trouble; he was about six foot two and he had what he obviously thought was an aristocratic face. His nose was the type that used to be called Roman—and looked like it'd be a honey to punch. He was dressed like a million, which didn't particularly impress me either. I'm on the rugged side myself, red headed and homely to boot. He took in the rifle I was cleaning, and his eyebrows went up questioningly. "Collector?" he asked. Somehow or other he managed to put over the impression that he thought I didn't have the intellect to have a hobby. "Not exactly," I told him. "This is a tool, not a collector's item." There was almost a laugh in his voice now. "You mean you use that relic in your work?" I put the gun down, told myself to take it easy, then said, "They've made a lot of developments in weapons since this rifle was popular, but it still has advantages on certain types of jobs. For instance, if I was after a Kodiac bear, up in the Alaska National Park—" He snorted, "I'd take a Bazook-rifle and be sure who came out on top." "Sure you would," I told him, "and there wouldn't be enough bear left to feed your dogs. I usually work for a zoo or a museum;
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