BY RALPH WILLIAMS[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Astounding ScienceFiction June 1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]_The Warden needed to have a certain very obnoxious pesteliminated ... and he knew just the pest-eradicator he needed...._The Harn first came to the Warden's attention through its effect on thegame population of an area in World 7 of the Warden's sector. A naturalecology was being maintained on World 7 as a control for experimentalseedings of intelligent life-forms in other similar worlds. How the Harngot there, the Warden never knew. In its free-moving larval state, theHarn was a ticklike creature which might have sifted through a naturalinter-dimensional rift; or it might have come through as a hitchhiker onsome legitimate traveler, possibly even the Warden himself.__In any event, it was there now. Free of natural enemies andcompetition, it had expanded enormously. So far, the effect in thecontrol world was localized, but this would not be the case when theHarn seeded. Prompt action was indicated._The Warden's inclination and training was in the direction of avoidingdirect intervention in the ecology of the worlds under hisjurisdiction, even in the field of predator control. He consideredintroduction of natural enemies of the Harn from its own world, anddecided against it. That cure was as bad, if not worse, than the diseaseitself.There was, however, in one adjacent world, a life-form not normallyassociated with the Harn; but which analysis indicated would be inimicalto it, and reasonably amenable to control.It was worth trying, anyway.* * * * *October 3rd, Ed Brown got up to the base cabin of his trap line with hiswinter's outfit.He hung an N. C. Company calendar on the wall and started marking offthe days.October 8th, the hole into the other world opened.In the meantime, of course, Ed had not been idle. All summer the cabinhad stood empty. He got his bedding, stove, and other cabin gear downfrom the cache and made the place livable. The mice were thick, a goodfur sign, but a nuisance otherwise. Down in the cellar hole, when hewent to clear it out for the new spud crop, he found burrowingseverywhere.Well, old Tom would take care of that in short order. Tom was a big,black, bobtailed cat eleven years old who had lived with Ed since he wasa kitten. Not having any feline companionship to distract him, his onlyinterest was hunting mice. Generally he killed a lot more than he couldeat, racking the surplus in neat piles beside the trail, on thedoorstep, or on a slab in the cellar. He was the best mouser in interiorAlaska.Ed propped the cellar hatch with a stick so old Tom could come and go ashe pleased, and went on about his chores, working with a methodicalefficiency that matched Tom's and went with his thinning gray hair andforty years in the woods. He dug the spuds he had planted that spring.He made a swing around his beaver lakes, tallying the blankets in eachhouse. He took the canoe and moved supplies to his upper cabin. Heharvested some fat mallards that had moved down on the river with thecoming of skim ice on the lakes. He bucked up firewood and stacked it tomove into camp with the first snow.On the fifth morning, as he was going down to the boat landing with apail for water, he found the hole into the other world.Ed had never seen a hole into another world, of course, nor even heardof such a thing. He was as surprised as any one would naturally be tofind one not fifty feet from their front door.Still, his experience had been all in the direction of believing whathis eyes told him. He had seen a lot of strange things in his life, andone more didn't strain him too much. He stood stockstill where he hadfirst noticed the hole and studied it warily.It was two steps off the trail to the left, right beside the old leaningbirch, a rectangular piece of scenery that did not fit. It looked to be,as nearly as he could judge, about man-size, six by three. At thebottom it was easy enough to see where this world left off and that onebegan. On the left side the two worlds matched pretty well, but on theright side there was a niggerhead in this world, the moss-covered relicof a centuries old stump, while that world continued level, so that theniggerhead was neatly sliced in two. Also, the vegetation was different,mossy on this side, grassy on that.On up around the hole, though, it was harder to tell. There was noclear-cut line, just the difference in what you could see through it. Inthe other world, the ground seemed to fall away, with low scrubby brushin the foreground. Then, a mile or so away, there were rising hills withhardwood forests of some kind, still green with summer, covering them.Ed stepped cautiously to one side. The view through the hole narrowed,as if it faced the trail squarely. He edged around the old birch to getbehind it, and from that side there was no hole, just the same oldAlaskan scenery, birch and rose bushes and spruce. From the front,though, it was still there.He cut an alder shoot about eight feet long, trimmed it, and poked itthrough the hole. It went through easily enough. He prodded at the sodin the other world, digging up small tufts. When he pulled the stickback, some of the other world dirt was on the sharp end. It looked andsmelled just about like any dirt.Old Tom came stretching out into the morning sun and stalked over toinvestigate. After a careful inspection of the hole he settled down withhis paws tucked under him to watch. Ed took a flat round can from hispocket, lined his lip frugally with snuff, and sat down on the up-endedbucket to watch too. At the moment, that seemed the likeliest thing todo.* * * * *It was nearly swarming time, the Harn had many things to preoccupy it,but it spared one unit to watch the hole into the other world. So far,nothing much had happened. A large biped had found the opening from theother side. It had been joined by a smaller quadruped; but neithershowed any indication yet of coming through. The sun was shining throughthe hole, a large young yellow sun, and the air was crisp, with sharpinteresting odors.The biped ejected a thin squirt of brown liquid through the hole--venomof some sort, apparently. The Harn hastily drew back out of range.* * * * *The hole into the other world stayed there, as unobtrusively fixed as ifit had been there since the beginning of time. Nothing came through, andnothing moved in the other world but leaves stirring now and then with abreeze, clouds drifting across the sky. Ed began to realize it wasgetting late in the morning, and he had not yet had breakfast. He leftold Tom to watch the hole, got stiffly to his feet and went on down thetrail to get the pail of water he had started for. From the cabin door,he could still see the hole into the other world. He kept one eye on itwhile he cooked breakfast.As he was finishing his second cup of coffee, he noticed the view intothe other world becoming duller, dimming in a peculiar fashion. He leftthe dirty dishes and went over to look more closely. What was happening,he found, was just that it was getting dark in the other world. Theeffect was strange, much like looking out the door of a brightly lightedroom at dusk. The edges of the hole cast a very clearly marked shadownow, and outside this shaft of sunlight the view faded, until a fewyards away it was impossible to make out any detail.Presently the stars came out. Ed was not an astronomer, but he had awoodsman's knowledge of the sky. He could find nothing familiar in anyof the stars he saw. In some way, that was more unsettling than the holeitself had been.After he had finished the dishes, he cut two gee-pole spruce, trimmedthem, and stuck one on each side of the hole. He got some thin thread heused to tie beaver snares and wove it back and forth between the poles,rigging a tin can alarm. It seemed likely someone or something had putthe hole there, it had not just happened. If anything came through, Edwanted to know about it. Just to make extra sure, he got some numberthree traps and made a few blind sets in front of the hole.Then he went back to his chores. Whatever was going to happen with thehole would happen when it happened, and winter was still coming.He set some babiche to soak for mending his snowshoes. He ran the net hehad set at the edge of the eddy for late silvers and took out two fish.Old Tom had pretty well cleaned up the mice in the cellar hole, but theywere still burrowing around the sills of the lean-to. Ed took a shoveland opened up a hole so Tom could get under the lean-to floor. He gotout his needles, palm, thread, and wax; and mended his winter moccasins.Off and on, he checked the hole into the other world. There was nothingbut the slow progression of alien stars across the sky. Finally old Tomgrew bored and left to investigate the hole under the lean-to. Shortlythere were scutterings and squeakings as evidence that he, too, had gotback to business.* * * * *Toward evening, Ed got to wondering how a living creature would taketransition into the other world. He had no intention of trying ithimself until he knew a lot more about it, but he thought he might beable to scare up a surrogate. Out by the wood pile some live-traps werepiled under a spruce, from the time when Ed had been catching marten forthe Fish and Wildlife to transplant. One was still in pretty fair shape.He patched it up and set it among the cottonwoods at the head of thebar, where there were some rabbit trails.When he went to bed it was still dark in the other world. He left thecabin door ajar so he could see it from his bed and set his shotgun,loaded with 00 buck, handy.Nearing sixty, Ed was not a sound sleeper, even when he had nothing onhis mind. About ten it started to get light in the other world, and thatwoke him up. He padded out to look, but there was no change, it lookedabout the same as yesterday. He went back to bed.The next morning there was a rabbit in the live-trap. With a pole, Edpushed the trap with the rabbit in it through into the other world andwatched. Nothing happened. After a while the rabbit began nibbling atsome spears of grass that pushed through the wire of the cage. Ed pulledit back and examined the rabbit carefully. It seemed healthy and aboutas happy as a rabbit could expect to be in a cage.It did not get dark in the other world till about noon, that day; andabout seven, when it was dark in both worlds, Ed heard the jangle of thetin can alarm, followed by the snap of one of the steel traps.He took a flashlight and found a small hoofed animal, hardly bigger thanold Tom, rearing and bucking with a broken leg in the trap. It had sharplittle spike horns, only a few inches long, but mean. Ed got severalpainful jabs before he got the animal tied up and out of the trap. Herestrung the alarm, then took his catch into the cabin to examine.It was herbivorous and adult, from the looks of its teeth and hoofs,though it only weighed about fifteen pounds. As an approximation, Eddecided it was female. When he killed it and opened it up, at firstglance it looked reasonably familiar, on closer study less so.The blood, anyway, was red; not blue or yellow or green; and the boneswere bones, just odd-shaped.Ed cut off a slice of heart and tossed it to old Tom. The cat sniffed itdubiously and then decided he liked it. He meowed for more. Ed gave itto him and fried a small sliver of ham. It smelled and tasted fine, butEd contented himself with a single delicate nibble, pending furtherdevelopments. Anyway, it was beginning to look like a little explorationwould be feasible.* * * * *The Harn, also, was well-satisfied with the way things were going. Ithad been a strain to pass up the juicy little quadruped in the cage, butthe inhabitants of the other world seemed shy, and the Harn did not wishto frighten them. At least, it knew now that life could come through thehole, and the small herbivore it had herded through confirmed thatpassage in the opposite direction was equally possible--plus a gratisdemonstration of the other world's pitiful defenses. At swarming time,the whole new world would be open to embryo Harn, as well as this worldit presently occupied.It looked like a really notable swarming. The Harn budded three moreplanters on the forcing stem, to be ready to take full advantage ofit.It got light in the other world at one in the morning that night. Ed hadthe days there pretty well pegged now. They were roughly twenty-sevenhours, of which about thirteen hours were dark. Not too high a latitude,apparently, and probably late summer by the looks of the vegetation.He got up a little before daylight and looked at the rabbit and old Tom.Both seemed to be doing nicely. Old Tom was hungry for more otherworldmeat. Ed gave it to him and made up a light pack. After some thought, hetook the .450 bear gun he used for back-up when guiding. Whatever he raninto over there, the .450--a model 71 throwing a 400 grain slug at 2100fps--should handle it.The first step through into the other world was a queasy one, but itturned out to be much the same as any other step. The only differencewas that now he was in the other world looking back. From this side, theniggerhead at the threshold was sliced sharply, but it had been kickeddown a little when he came through, and what with shoving the cagethrough and pulling it back, so that some clods of moss and dirt werescattered in the other world. For some reason, that made Ed feel better,it seemed to make the joining of the two worlds a little more permanent.Still, it had come sudden, and it might go sudden. Ed went back into hisown world and got an ax, a saw, more ammunition, salt, a heavy sleepingrobe, a few other possibles. He brought them through and piled them inthe other world, covering them with a scrap of old tarp. He cut a coupleof poles, peeled them, and stuck them in the ground to mark the holefrom this side.Then he looked around.He stood on the shoulder of a hill, in a game trail that ran down towarda stream below, in what seemed to be a fairly recent burn. There werecharred stumps, and the growth was small stuff, with some saplingspushing up through. There was timber in the valley below, though, and onthe hills beyond, deciduous, somewhat like oak. South was where east hadbeen in his own world, and the sun seemed smaller, but brighter. The skywas a very dark blue. He seemed lighter in this world, there was aspring in his step he had not known for twenty years. He looked at hiscompass. It checked with the direction of the sun.He studied the trail. It had seen a lot of use, but less in recentweeks. There were sharp hoof-prints of the animal he had caught, largerhoof-prints, vague pad-marks of various sizes, but nothing that lookedhuman. The trail went under a charred tree trunk at a height that wasnot comfortable for a man, and the spacing of the steps around thegnarled roots of an old slump did not fit a man's stride.He did not notice the Harn creature at all--which was understandable, itwas well camouflaged.He worked circumspectly down the trail, staying a little off it,studying tracks and droppings, noticing evidences of browsing on theshrubs--mostly old--pausing to examine tufts of hair and an occasionalfeather. Halfway down the slope he flushed a bird about ptarmigan-size,grayish brown in color.The trail was more marked where it went into the timber. It woundthrough the trees for a few hundred yards and came out on a canoe-sizedstream. Here it forked. One trail crossed the stream and went up thehill on the other side, the other followed the stream up the valley.* * * * *The Harn followed Ed's movements, observing carefully. It needed aspecimen from the other world, and this biped would serve nicely, but itmight as well learn as much as possible about him first. It could alwayspick him up some time before he returned to his own world. Just to makesure, it sent a stinging unit to guard the entrance.* * * * *All his life, except for a short period in France, Ed had been a hunter,never hunted. Still, you don't grow old in the woods by jumping withoutlooking. Coming into a new situation, he was wary as an old wolf. Therewas a little shoulder right above the fork in the trail. He stood therefor several minutes, looking things over, and then went down and crossedthe stream at the next riffle, above the ford. By doing so, although hedid not know it, he missed the trap the Harn maintained at the ford forchance passers-by.On the other side of the creek, the trail ran angling off downstream,skirted a small lake hidden in the trees, climbed over another lowshoulder and dropped into a second valley. As Ed followed along it, hebegan to notice a few more signs of life--birds, small scurriers on theground and in tree tops--and this set him thinking. The country had apicked-over feel to it, a hunted and trapped-out feel, worse where hehad first come through, but still noticeable here.* * * * *The Harn did not like to cross water, it could, but it did not liketo.* * * * *Ed looked at the sun. It was getting down in the sky. If there was anyactivity at all around here, the ford at dusk would be as likely a placeas any to find it. He worked back along the ridge to a point above wherehe judged the ford to be. The breeze was drawing up the valley, butfavoring the other side a little. He dropped down and crossed the streama quarter mile above the ford, climbed well above the trail and workedalong the hillside until he was in a position where he could watch boththe ford and the fork in the trail. He squatted down against a tree in acomfortable position, laid his gun across his knees, and rummaged in hispack for the cold flapjacks, wrapped around slices of duck breast, whichhe had packed for lunch.After he had finished eating he drank from his canteen--the water inthis world might be good, it might not, there was no point in takingchances till he could try it on the cat--and took an economical chew ofsnuff. He settled back to wait.The Harn had lost Ed after he crossed the creek--it used a fallen treequite a way further up for its own crossing--and did not pick him upagain until just before he crossed back. Now, however, he had beenimmobile for several minutes. This looked like about as good a time asany to make the pickup. The Harn had a stinging unit just aboutpositioned, and it had dispatched a carrier to stand by.After a while, sitting there, Ed began to feel uneasy. The timber wasbig here, and open underneath, almost parklike. The nearest cover wasfifty or sixty yards off to his left, a little tangle of brush where atree had fallen and let a shaft of sunlight through.It looked possible, but it didn't feel quite right. Still, it was aboutthe only place anything big enough to bother him could hide. The feelingwas getting stronger, the back hairs on Ed's neck were starting to standup now. Without visible movement, or even noticing himself that he wasdoing it, he let awareness run over his body, checking the position andstiffness of his legs--he had been sitting there quite a while--thebalance of the gun across his knees, the nearness of his thumb to thehammer.Thoughtfully, still studying the patch of brush, he spat a thin streamover his left shoulder at a pile of leaves a few feet away.Thinking about it later, Ed could almost have sworn the tobacco juicesizzled as it hit. Actually, this was probably imaginary. The stingingunit was not that sensitive to tobacco, though it was sensitive enough.As the drops splattered it, the pile of leaves erupted with a snufflinghiss like an overloaded teakettle into a tornado of bucking, twistingactivity.Ed's reflexes were not quite as fast as they had been when he was young,but they were better educated. Also, he was already keyed-up. Almost asit started, the flurry in the leaves stopped with the roar of his rifle.Fired like that, the heavy gun just about took his hand off, but he didnot notice it at the moment. He came erect in a quick scramble, jackingin a fresh round as he did so. The scene took on that strange timelessaspect it often does in moments of emergency, with a man's whole beingfocused on the fleeting _now_--you know, in an academic sort of way,that things are moving fast, you are moving fast yourself, but thereseems plenty of time to make decisions, to look things over and decidewhat has to be done, to move precisely, with minimum effort and maximumeffect.Whatever the thing at his feet was, it was out of the picture now--ithad not even twitched after the heavy bullet tore through it. There wasa stomping rush in the little thicket he had been watching. Ed took twolong quick steps to one side to clear a couple of trees, threw up thegun and fired as something flashed across a thin spot in the brush. Heheard the whack of the bullet in flesh and fired again. Ordinarily hedid not like to shoot at things he could not see clearly, but this didnot seem the time to be overly finicky. There was no further movement inthe brush.He stood there several long moments, listening, and there was no furthermovement anywhere. He eased the hammer down, fed in three rounds toreplace those he had used, and walked slowly back to the first thing hehad shot.At that range, the bullet had not opened up, but it had not needed to.It had practically exploded the creature anyway--the .450 has two tonsof striking energy at the muzzle. From what was left, Ed deduced asmallish, rabbit-sized thing, smooth-skinned, muscular, many-legged,flattish, mottled to camouflage perfectly in the leaves. There was ahead at one end, mostly undamaged since it had been at the end of a longmuscular neck, with a pair of glazing beady eyes and a surprisinglysmall mouth. When Ed pressed on the muscles at the base of the skull,the mouth gaped roundly and a two-inch long spine slid smoothly out ofan inconspicuous slot just below it.At middling distances or better, Ed could still see as well as ever, butclose up he needed help. He got out his pocket magnifier and studied thespine. It looked hollow, grooved back for a distance from the point. Adrop of milky looking substance trembled on its tip.Ed nodded thoughtfully to himself. This was what had made him uneasy, hewas pretty sure. What was the thing in the brush, then? Innocentbystander? He got stiffly to his feet, conscious now of the ache in hiswrist that had taken most of the recoil of the first shot, the torn webbetween his right thumb and forefinger where the hammer spur had bittenin; and walked over to the thicket.* * * * *The thing in the brush was larger, quite a bit larger, and the bulletshad not torn it up so badly. It lay sprawled with three of its eightlegs doubled under it, a bear-sized animal with a gaping, cavernous,toothless mouth out of all proportion to the slender body which seemeddesigned mainly as a frame for the muscular legs. It was not quite dead.As Ed came up it struggled feebly to get up, but one of the heavy slugshad evidently hit the spine, or whatever carried communications to thehindquarters. It fell back, shuddering convulsively, and suddenlyregurgitated a small, furry animal.Ed stepped back quickly to bring his rifle to bear, but the newestarrival was obviously already dead.He turned his attention back to the larger animal. It, too, was deadnow. There was an obvious family resemblance to the smaller one he hadshot in the leaves. Both were smooth-skinned, many-legged, and now thathe looked closely he could see this one had two mouths, a small one justunder the nostrils, purse-lipped and tiny in its huge face but quitelike that of the other creature. Neither looked even remotely likeanything he had ever seen before.He laid down his rifle and took out his knife.Ten minutes later, he knew quite a bit about the thing, but what he knewdid not make much sense. In the first place, its blood _was_ green, ayellowish pussy green. In the second place, the larger mouth, completewith jaws and impressive musculature, opened not into a digestivesystem, but into a large closed pouch which comprised most of theanimal's torso. There was no proper digestive system at all, only arudimentary gut, heavily laced with blood vessels, terminating at oneend in the small second mouth, at the other in an even smaller anus.Otherwise, the thing had no insides except a good pair of lungs and astout heart--none at all. Bone, muscle, lung, heart--plus theridiculously inadequate gut--that was it.What about the small, furry, animal then; the one the other had beencarrying in its pouch? There was nothing much out-of-the-way about it--afeline sort of carnivore, something like a marten. The fur lookedinteresting, and he skinned it out, casing the hide. On the left ham,the skin was punctured and there was a swollen, bluish area--about thesort of wound that would be made by the fang of the first thing he hadshot. Ed squatted back on his heels, studying it and putting two and twotogether. What two and two made was pretty hard to believe, but itfitted the evidence.He wiped his knife carefully on the grass, put it back in its sheath,and got to his feet. Suddenly, the feeling that he was not alonerecurred. He looked quickly around.Back where he had shot the first thing, a man in forest-green whipcordtrousers and jacket was leaning over, hands on knees, looking at theremains. The man looked up and met Ed's eyes. He nodded casually andwalked over to the second thing, prodded it with his toe. After a longmoment he nodded again to Ed, smiled briefly, and winked out.Ed stared at the empty air where the other man had been, mouth open. Itwas just a little too much. A lot of things had happened to him in thelast few days, he had been able to take most of them more or less asthey came along, but after all, he wasn't a chicken any more, he waspushing sixty, and there is a limit to what a man should have to put upwith at that age. The thought of his snug cabin, with a good fire going,moosemeat bubbling in the pot, the gas lantern hissing, and the bottleof Hudson's Bay rum he had tucked under the eaves against just such anoccasion as this, was suddenly very appealing.Besides, it was getting late, and he didn't think he cared to bestumbling around this world in the dark.He elbowed his pack up, hooked the left shoulder strap, and headed forhome, staying off the trail in ordinary caution and watching hisfooting, but moving pretty fast just the same.Actually, he need not have been so careful.The Harn had been surprised and shocked by the explosive violence of theman's reaction to a routine harvesting maneuver. It was a relativelyyoung Harn, but it retained memories of its own world, where there werealso nasty, violent things which killed Harn. It was not pleasant tothink that it might have evoked some such monster in this hithertopeaceful place.Then, to top that, there had been the sudden appearance of the Warden.The Harn, of course, saw the Warden not as a man, but in its trueaspect, which was not at all friendly.All in all, this did not seem the moment to start any new adventures.The Harn pulled in all its mobile units, including the stinger it hadleft at the hole into the other world. It huddled protectively togetherin its nest, considering these new developments.* * * * *By ten that evening, Ed, in conference with old Tom and the bottle ofHudson's Bay, had done considerable hard thinking, pro and con.Of course, he didn't _have_ to go into the other world, just because thehole was there. He could block it off, seal it up with timbers andforget it.He sat there and thought about this, absently smoothing the strange furon his knee. For an old-timer like himself, things weren't too hot inthis world. Fur didn't bring much of a price any more, and he couldn'tget it in as he had when he was younger. His wants were simple, butthere was a certain rock-bottom minimum he had to have. Too, the winterswere starting to bother him a little, the arthritis in his hands wasgetting worse every year, times he hardly had the strength in his lefthand, which was the worst, to hold an ax. Another five, ten, years andit would be the Pioneers' Home for him--if he did not get stove up orsick sooner and die right here in the cabin, too helpless to cut woodfor the fire. He had helped bury enough others, bed and all when theydidn't come down the river at breakup and somebody had to go up and lookfor them, to know it was possible.The other world was milder, it had game and fur--good fur, too, from thelooks of it, something new that could lick any mutation or synthetic onthe market, and the income tax had still left a few fellows who couldpay through the nose to see their women look nice.And, the country was new. He'd never thought he'd have a crack at a newcountry again, a new, _good_ country. Often, he'd thought how luckypeople had been who were born a hundred and fifty years ago, moving intoan easy, rich country like the Ohio or Kentucky when it was new, insteadof the bitter North.The Harn would be a nuisance--Ed did not think of it as the Harn, ofcourse, but just as "they"--but he supposed he could find a way to cleanthem out. A man generally could, if varmints got troublesome enough.And the man in forest-green whipcord, well, he _could_ have been just anhallucination. Ed did not really believe in hallucinations, but he hadheard about them, and there was always a first time.Ed sighed, looked at the clock, measured the bottle with his eye--stillbetter than three quarters full.All in all, he guessed, he'd leave the door into the other world open.He put old Tom out and went to bed.* * * * *The first order of business seemed to be to get better acquainted withthe Harn, and first thing in the morning he set about it. He took therabbit out of the live box and tethered it in a spot in the other worldclose to the hole, where raw earth had been exposed by a big blowdown,sweeping the ground afterward to clear it of tracks.Getting better acquainted with the Harn, though, did not mean he had tohave it come in and crawl in bed with him.Before going to bed the night before, he had set half a can of snuff tosteep in some water. He loaded a bug gun with this and sprayed theground around the hole into the other world. From the reactionyesterday, he judged the stinging units did not like tobacco juice, andthis should discourage them from coming through.He checked his bear snares and found three in good enough shape tosatisfy him--the large Harn beast, he suspected, would be about like agrizzly to hold. Three would hardly be enough for a serious trappingprogram. Ed made his own snares from old aircraft control cable, using alock of his own devising which slid smoothly and cinched down tight andpermanently. He got out his roll of wire and box of locks and startedmaking up some more, sitting where he could watch the rabbit he hadstaked out.By the middle of the afternoon the snares were done, but there had beenno action with the rabbit, nor was there for the rest of the day.In the morning, though, it was gone. There were three new sets of tracksin the bare spot--two smaller ones, either of which would have fittedthe stinging unit, and what looked like a carrier's. The action wasclear enough. The small things had prowled around the rabbit for sometime, stopping frequently as if uncertain and suspicious. Finally, onehad moved in, with a little flurry of action when it met the rabbit.Then it had moved back and squatted again.The big tracks came directly to the rabbit and went right out again.They were heavy enough to be clear in the grass beyond the bare spot.* * * * *Ed went back to the cabin and rummaged till he found a pair ofsnakeproof pants a Stateside sport had once given him--heavy duck withan interlining of woven wire. They were heavy and uncomfortable to wear,and about as useless as wings on a pig in Alaska, where there are nosnakes; but they had been brand-new and expensive when given to him, andhe had put them away, thinking vaguely he might find a use for them someday. It looked like that day might be now.He slipped them on, took his rifle and hunting pack, and set out tofollow the animal that had taken the rabbit.The trail showed well in the morning dew, going straight away along thehillside as if the thing were headed some place definite. Ed followedalong for a quarter mile or so, then found himself on a fairly wellbeaten path, which presently joined another, and then another, till itwas a definitely well used trail. It began to look to him like the thingmight have a den of some sort, and he might be getting pretty close toit. He left the trail and climbed up into a lone tall tree,fire-scorched but still struggling for life. From there, he could followthe trail pretty well with his glasses for a couple of hundred yardsbefore he lost it. Finally, he settled on a spot under an old burntstump as a likely spot for the den.He focused the glasses carefully and after a few minutes saw a flash ofmovement there, as if something had slipped in or out. Nothing elsehappened for about an hour. Then the grass along one of the trails beganto wave and a large beast, similar to the one he had shot, trotted intosight. It slipped in under the stump and disappeared.For the rest of the morning, nothing went in or out.There was a very good reason for this, and Ed was it.* * * * *All night and day after he shot the stinging unit and the carrier unit,the Harn had stayed in its nest. By the second evening, it was gettinghungry. It ventured out and found a few morsels, but the organizedhunting network it ordinarily maintained had been disrupted, it had losttrack of things, and the pickings were poor. Then it stumbled on therabbit Ed had staked out.Its first impulse was to leave the rabbit strictly alone. In spite ofits early promise, the other world had so far given nothing but trouble.On the other hand, the rabbit was meat, and very good meat, by the smelland looks of it....The Harn kept its observation unit prowling irresolutely around thetarget for half the night before it finally gave in to appetite and sentin a stinger to finish the rabbit off, a carrier to pick it up.It was still uneasy about this when it noticed Ed near the nest the nextmorning, confirming its fears. It promptly broke up the net it had beenre-establishing and pulled all units back in. Maybe if it left himstrictly alone, he might still go on about his business, whatever thatwas, and let the Harn get back to its harvesting.* * * * *By noon, Ed was getting pretty stiff sitting in the tree. He climbeddown and eased over toward the stump, watching where he set his feet. Hewas pretty sure the snakeproof pants would stop the stingers, but he sawno point in putting them to the test until he had to.About fifty yards away, he got a good view, and it did look like theremight be a sizable hole under the stump. He studied it carefully withthe glasses. There was a smooth-beaten mound in front, and exposed rootswere worn slick.As he got closer, he noticed an unpleasant smell, and near the mouth ofthe den he got a sudden whiff that almost gagged him--a sour, acid,carrion stink like a buzzard's nest. He moved back a little. The holewas wide and fairly high, two or three feet, but too dark to see backinto. Still, he had a sense of something stirring there not too farback.Ed had considerable respect for caves and dens with unseen occupants--hehad once helped carry in the bodies of two men who had poked a stickinto a spring grizzly's den. At the same time, he wanted pretty badly toknow what was in there. He suspected there was a good deal more thanwhat he had already seen.The bug gun loaded with tobacco juice was in his pack, and a flashlight,a small light one designed for a lady's purse which he always carriedwhen away from camp. He got them out and leaned his rifle against a rootsticking out just to the left of the den. Taking the bug gun in his lefthand and the flashlight in his right, he stooped over to shine the lightin, keeping as well clear of the entrance as possible.All in all, he must have got about a five-second look, which is a lotlonger than it sounds when things are happening.His first impression was a jumble--eyes, scurrying movement, and bulk.Then things started to shape up. About ten feet back from the entrancewas a huge, flattish, naked, scabrous bulk, pimpled with finger-sizedteats. Clustered around and behind this were a tangle of slinging units,carrier units, observation units. Some had their mouths fixed to teats.For a long second or two the scene stayed frozen.Then the front edge of the bulk split and began to gape. Ed foundhimself looking down a manhole-sized gullet into a shallow puddle ofslime with bits of bone sticking up here and there. Toward the near enda soggy mass of fur that might have been the rabbit seemed to be visiblymelting down. At the same moment, the tangle of lesser monsters sortedthemselves out and a wave of stingers came boiling out at him.Ed dropped the flashlight, gave two mighty pumps of the bug gun, andjumped clear of the entrance. For a moment, the den mouth boiled withstingers, hissing and bucking in agony. Ed sprayed them heavily again,snatched up his rifle, and ran, looking back over his shoulder. Thestingers showed no inclination to follow, though, the tobacco juiceseemed to be keeping them well occupied for the moment.Halfway home, Ed had to stop and rest for a moment while he took a spellof shuddering and gagging as a sudden picture of the slimy gullet cameinto his mind, with Ed Brown laying where the rabbit had been, meltingdown into a stinking soup of bones and gobbets of flesh.When he got to the hole, his arrangement of tin cans, traps, and tobaccojuice no longer looked nearly as secure as it had. He got his ax and cuttwo stout posts, framing the hole; built a stout slab door and hung itfrom them. Then he drove stakes close together at the threshold, to foilany attempts to dig under, and trimmed a sill tight to the door.His feeling in this matter, as it happened, was sound.The Harn was beginning to develop a pretty strong dislike for Ed Brown.Three of its stinging units were dead, and most of the rest were in poorshape, thanks to the tobacco spray. It had got a little whiff of thestuff itself, not enough to do any serious damage ordinarily, but rightnow, so close to swarming time--Ed was going to have to go.So far, in this world, the Harn had needed only the three basic types ofmobile units. There were other standard types, however, for dealing withmore complicated situations. As it happened, a couple of carrier embryoswere at just about the right stage. With a little forcing, they could bebrought on in not too long a time. Meanwhile, the Harn would do what itcould with the material available.When Ed came through the next day to set his snares, the Harn wasprepared to test his snakeproof pants. They held, which wasdisconcerting to the Harn, but it was a hard creature to convince, oncethoroughly aroused. Ed was not too sure of how well the pants wouldstand up to persistent assault himself. After the third ambush, he tookto spraying suspicious looking spots with tobacco juice. He shot twomore stingers in this way, but it slowed him up quite a bit. It took himall day to make four sets.In the next three days he made a dozen sets and caught two carriers.Then, the fourth day, as he adjusted a snare, a seeming root suddenlycame to life and slashed at his hand. He was wearing gloves to keep hisscent from the snares, and the fang caught the glove and just grazed theball of his left thumb. The hatchet he had been using to cut a togglewas lying by his knee. He snatched it up and chopped the stinger beforeit could strike again, then yanked off the glove and looked at his hand.A thin scratch, beaded with drops of blood, showed on the flesh.Unhesitatingly, he drew the razor edge of the hatchet across it, suckedand spat, sucked and spat again and again. Then he started for home.He barely made it. By the time he got to the hole, he was a very sickman. He latched the door, stumbled into the cabin and fell on the bed.It was several days before he was able to be about again, his hand stillpartly paralyzed.During that time, the situation changed. The Harn took the offensive.Ed's first notice of this was a rhythmic crashing outside the cabin. Hemanaged to crawl to where he could see the gate he had built to blockthe hole into the other world. It was shaking from repeated batteringsfrom the other side. Dragging his rifle with his good hand, he scrabbleddown to where he could see through the chinks in the slab door. Two ofthe carrier units were there, taking turns slamming their full weightagainst it. He had built that gate skookum, but not to take somethinglike that.He noted carefully where they were hitting it, then backed off twentyfeet and laid the .450 across a log. He let them hit the door twice moreto get the timing before he loosed off a shot, at the moment of impact.The battering stopped abruptly, and through the chinks he could see abulk piled against the gate.For a while there was no more action. Then, after a few tentative buttsat the door, the battering started again. This time, Ed wasn't so lucky.The battering stopped when he fired, but he got an impression that thecarrier ran off. He thought he might have hit it, but not mortally.In an hour or so the Harn was back, and it kept coming back. Ed began toworry about his ammunition, which was not unlimited. Ordinarily, two orthree boxes lasted him through the winter. He got his .30-06, for whichhe had a sugar sack full of military ammunition. The light full-patchstuff did not have the discouraging effect of the .450, though, and hehad to shoot a lot oftener.Another thing, he wasn't getting any rest, which was bad in his alreadyweakened condition. Every time he dozed off the battering would startagain, and he would have to wake up and snap a few shots through thedoor. He held pretty much on one spot, not wanting to shoot the door topieces, but the Harn noticed this, and started hitting the door in otherplaces.The second day of the attack, the door came down. It had been prettyshaky for some time, and Ed had got the cabin ready for a siege, fillingbutter kegs with water and nailing up the windows. As the Harn pouredthrough, he shot several and then broke for the cabin. A carrier ran athim full tilt, bent on bowling him over. Once off his feet, he wouldhave been easy meat for one of the stingers. He sidestepped, swung hisshotgun up in one hand--he had kept it handy for the close fighting--andblew the carrier's spine in half. He had to kick it aside to slam thecabin door.For a few minutes, then, things were pretty hectic. Ed went from one toanother of the loopholes he had cut, blasting first with the shotgun asthe Harn crowded around, then using the .30 as they grew more cautious.* * * * *After the first rush, it was obvious to the Harn that the cabin wasgoing to be a tough nut to crack. On the other hand, there was no rushabout it either. Necessarily, it had let its hunting go the past severaldays while it concentrated on Ed. It was pretty hungry, and it was inrich pickings now--Ed had always kept from disturbing game close to thecabin, partly because he liked to see it around, and partly because hehad an idea that some day he might be in a fix where he couldn't travelvery well, and would want meat close to hand. The Harn felt no suchcompunctions. The stinging units spread through the woods, and shortly asteady procession of loaded carriers began to stream back through thehole. Ed picked off the first few, but then the Harn found it couldroute them up the river trail in such a way that he got only a glimpseas they flashed through the hole. After that he did not hit very many.Ed stopped shooting. He was getting short on ammunition for the .30 now,too. He counted up. There were eighteen rounds for the .450, half a boxof 220 grain soft point for the .30 plus about the same amount ofmilitary stuff, and a handful of shotgun shells. Of course, there wasstill the .30 Luger with a couple of boxes, and the .22; but they werenot much account for this kind of work.He looked at the cabin door. It was stout, built of hewed three-inchslabs, but it wouldn't last forever against the kind of beating the gatehad got. Even if it did, he was going to run out of water eventually.Ed thought about that for a while, sitting at the table staring at thelittle pile of cartridges. He was going to be run out of here sooner orlater, he might as well pick his own time, and now seemed about as goodas any, while the Harn was busy exploring and hunting.He sighed and got up to rummage around the cabin. The snakeproof pantshad done real good, but he did not trust them entirely. There was somesheet iron laid over the ceiling joists, which he had brought up to makenew stoves for his line camps. He got this down and cut it into smallpieces. Around the edges he drilled a number of small holes. Then he gotout his mending gear and began sewing the plates, in an overlappingpattern, to the legs of the snakeproof pants and to an old pair ofmoccasins. When he finished, he was pretty well armored as far as hiscrotch. It was an awkward outfit to move around in, but as long as hewas able to stay on his feet, he figured he would be reasonably securefrom the stingers. As for the bigger ones, he would just have to dependon seeing them first, and the .450.Next, he needed some gasoline. The fuel cache was under a big spruce,about twenty yards from the door. He made the round of his loopholes.There were no Harn in sight, they were apparently ignoring him for now.He slipped out the door, closing it securely behind him, and started forthe cache.As he stepped out, a stinger came from under the sill log and lashed athis foot. He killed it with the ax beside the door, saving a cartridge,and went on, walking fairly fast but planting his feet carefully, alittle awkward in his armor. He picked up a five-gallon can of gas, aquart of motor oil, and the twenty feet of garden hose he used forsiphoning gas down the bank to the boat. On the way back, anotherstinger hit him. He kicked it aside, not wanting to set down his load,and it came at him again and again. Just outside the door, he finallycaught it under a heel and methodically trampled it to death. Then hesnatched open the door, tossed the stuff inside, and pulled it quicklyshut behind him.So far, good enough.He lashed the gas can solidly to his packboard, slipped the end of thehose into the flexible spout and wired it tight. Then he cut up an oldwool undershirt and wrapped the pieces around miscellaneous junk--oldnuts and bolts, chunks of leadline, anything to make up half a dozenpackages of good throwing heft. He soaked these in oil and stowed themin a musette bag which he snapped to the D-rings of the pack.One of the metal plates on his moccasin was hanging by a thread,probably he had torn it loose in the scuffle at the door. They weren'tgoing to take too much kicking and banging around, he could see, andonce he was on his way, it wouldn't be a very good idea to be caughtbending over with his bare hands at ground level to fix them. On theother hand, he couldn't be using all his cartridges on the stingers,either, he had to save them for the carriers. He thought about this somewhile mending the moccasin, and decided to take the bug gun. It mightnot kill the stingers, but it ought to discourage them enough so theywouldn't keep pestering him.With his bad left arm, he had trouble getting the pack on his back. Hefinally managed by swinging it up on the table first. It was not toomuch of a load, forty or fifty pounds he guessed. Still, shaky as hewas, it was about as much as he could manage. He had intended to justtry it on for size, but after he got it up he thought: well, why notnow? He picked up the .450, stowed the extra cartridges in his pocket,checked to make sure he had matches, hung the bug gun on his belt, andopened the door.* * * * *It was just getting dusk, but the other world was in broad daylight, thedays and nights were almost completely reversed again. As he steppedthrough the hole, the first stinger struck. He gave it a good squirt oftobacco juice. It went bucking and twisting off and he went on, steppingcarefully and solidly.Luckily, most of the Harn was foraging in the new world. Two morestingers ambushed him, but the tobacco juice got rid of them, and he hadno serious trouble till he got close to the den. Two carriers came outand rushed him there. He shot them both and then killed the stinger thatwas pecking at his shins. He moved quickly now, he had an idea that inabout a minute all hell would break loose. He swung the pack down on theuphill side of the den, wet the musette bag with a quick spray of gas,tossed it over his shoulder, jammed the free end of the hose into theden mouth and stabbed the can with his knife to vent it. As the gaspoured into the den he lit one of his oil and gas soaked bombs and ranaround in front, lighting one after another from the one in his hand andtossing them into the den. The musette bag caught fire and he snatchedit from his shoulder and tossed it after the bombs. A whoof and a sheetof flame blew out.About fifty yards away there was a slender, popplelike tree. Ed hadthought if he could make that, he would be reasonably secure while theHarn burned. He ran for it as hard as he could, beating at the flamesthat had spattered on him from the burning gas, but he never made it.Harn were erupting everywhere. A carrier suddenly came charging out ofthe brush to his left. While Ed dealt with that one, the Harn played itsace in the hole. The two special units it had been developing to dealwith Ed were not quite done yet, but they were done enough to work forthe few minutes the Harn needed them. Ed heard a coughing grunt behindhim and spun around to see something new crawling out of the flame andsmoke at the den entrance.This one was a roughly carrier shaped creature, but half again as large,built for killing. It had powerful fanged jaws and its eight feet werearmed with knifelike, disemboweling claws. As it came at Ed in alumbering rush, another came crawling out after it.Ed shot four times, as fast as he could work the action. The heavy slugsdid the job, but not quite well enough. With its dying lunge the thinggot to him and tossed him ten feet like a rag doll. He lit on his badhand and felt the wrist bones go.As he struggled to get up, digging his elbow in and using one hand, hesaw a stinger darting in at him. He had lost both the bug gun and hisrifle when the fighting unit swiped him. He swiveled on his hips andkicked the stinger away. Then he saw the second fighting unit coming. Heforgot about the stinger. It still might get to him, but, if it did, itwould be too late to matter.He drew his knife, managed to get to one knee, and crouched there likean old gray rat, stubbly lips drawn back from worn teeth in a grin ofpain and rage. This was one he wasn't going to win, he guessed.Ten feet away, the fighting unit suddenly ran down like a clockwork toy.It toppled over, skidded past him under its own momentum, and lay therekicking spasmodically. Ed glared at it uncomprehendingly. It arched itsneck back to almost touch its haunches, stiffened, and was still.Ed looked around. The stinger was dead too, three feet from hisshoulder, and half a dozen more which had been making for him. A cloudof greasy, stinking smoke was rolling out of the den. The Harn wasdead.Ed put his knife away and lay back. He did not quite pass out, butthings got pretty dim.After a while he got hold of himself and sat up. He was not toosurprised to see the man in forest green prodding at the bodies of thefighting units. The stranger looked at the smoke still oozing from theden and nodded approvingly. Then he came over and looked at Ed. Heclacked his tongue in concern and bent over, touching Ed's wrist. Ednoticed there was now a cast on it, and it didn't hurt so much. Therewas also a plastic binding around his ribs and shoulder, where the clawsof the first fighter had raked as it tossed him. That was a mighty neattrick, because the rags of his shirt were still buttoned around him, andhe was pretty sure it had not been off at any time.The stranger smiled at Ed, patted him on the shoulder, and disappeared.He seemed to be a busy sort of fellow, Ed thought, with not much timefor visiting.Ed felt quite a bit better now, enough better to gather up what was leftof his gear and start home. He was glad to find old Tom waiting for himthere. The cat had taken to the woods when the attack on the gate firststarted, he didn't like shooting, and Ed had worried that the Harn mighthave got him.* * * * *Ed slept till noon the next day, got up and cooked a dozen flapjacks anda pound of bacon. After breakfast, he sat around for an hour or sodrinking coffee. Then he spent the rest of the afternoon putteringaround the cabin.He packed away the snakeproof pants, disassembled the flame-thrower,picked up the traps by the hole.Old Tom seemed to have pretty well cleaned up the mice under thelean-to. Ed took his shovel and filled in the hole he had dug for thecat to get at them.He went to bed early. Tomorrow he would take a long hike around the newworld, scout out the fur and game, plan his trap-line and pick cabinsites.The next morning, though, the hole into the other world was gone.The posts which had marked it were sheared neatly in half. The remainsof the door still hung there, battered and sagging; but it swung open onnothing but Alaska, when Ed stepped through he found himself standingbeside the old leaning birch.He tried it several times before he convinced himself.He walked slowly back toward the cabin, feeling old and uncertain, notquite knowing what to do with himself. Old Tom was over by the lean-to,sniffing and pawing tentatively at the fresh earth where Ed had filledin the hole. As Ed came up, he came over to rub against Ed's leg.They went into the cabin and Ed started fixing breakfast.THE END
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