toward the tree and the animal that was devouring it, figuring to get as close as possible with the idea of getting a really good look at the bulletproof beastie. I wished, now, that I'd brought my .257 Roberts instead of the .22 Hornet.

At first I was careful in my approach, slipping from cover to cover; but as I got closer it became evident that the zloor wasn't particularly timid and that as far as it was concerned I could come as near as I wanted.

I stood off about five feet and watched it for a long time. Once it looked up and over at me, but then went back to the tree in which it was making a respectable hole.

I tried once again with the rifle, aiming carefully right behind its ear. The gun snapped, and the bullet thudded—but the zloor ignored it.

"Holy Wodo," I snorted. "He's really bulletproof."

In fact, he was more than just bulletproof. The shock of the impact of the high powered twenty-two hadn't even bothered him, it wasn't just a matter of the bullet's inability to penetrate the hide.

"Well," I told myself. "Let's see just how close I can come before it runs off."

I walked up to him cautiously. He didn't move. In my surprise, I even prodded him gently with my shoe. He still didn't move. He looked up at me again, his eyes a wistful yellowish color, then went back to his meal.

I shook my head, wondering if I was still suffering from the effects of the woji binge, or what. This was just too easy—maybe it was a sick one or something.

I reached down and grasped it by the ears and started to pick it up.

Have you ever tried to pick up something and found out it either weighed considerably more, or was fastened to the floor? That's what happened to me. With Martian gravity what it is, I figured I'd have a weight of possibly one earth pound of lift. Instead, I nearly broke my back—and the zloor still didn't budge.

I put more pressure to bear, all my strength—and the zloor complacently went on eating.

Hands on hips, I stood above the rabbit-like animal and stared at it.

Finally, I muttered, "More than one way to bring home a zloor," and, taking my gun by the barrel, I swung it viciously down at the gentle looking little animal—feeling like a heel as I did it.

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