Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 72 — page 108: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

REWARD FOR VALOUR was outside the mine shaft, and old Sam was bending over me, squeezing a moisture bulb into my mouth. All about us were groaning men, bleeding, suffering—some staggering about, some lying supine—some courageous, some afraid. The lichen plants had been cleared away to keep them from shooting tendrils into the open wounds. The fat-butted mine owner was crouched over to one side, his back up against a rock, and with one hand squeezed tightly around the stump of an arm. I felt an unworthy rush of gladness. It is so seldom the instigators of such actions get caught up in their own greed. It’s usually poor devils who can’t help themselves. The reporter was standing at my feet. “Holy damn,” he was say- ing over and over. ‘“‘What a story! Holy damn! I wanted a story and I gotit.’’ He laughed loudly. “‘P’ll have to compli- ment you stinking Martians. You're damned obiliging!’’ He looked around the scene of suffering men triumphantly. None looked in his direction. I pushed Sam away and sat up. “Doctors?” I questioned. “On their way,” Sam an- swered. “I sent a radio call from the mine office. Due any minute now.” I looked over at the mine owner and felt a little regret. Somehow, I wished he could be made to suffer more, to know all the suffering he had caused. But it probably couldn’t be helped. He’d be rescued, too, when the doc- tors came. It was a pity. I felt unworthy for my regret, because there were a dozen men writhing in agony, while I wasn’t really hurt. There were three men lying very still. They would never know pain again. I felt an- other rush of anger in my head. “I don’t condemn explosives for the fun of showing my badge!”’ I shouted senselessly at the mine owner. He did not look in my direction. *“Damn!’’ Ishouted. “‘Damn all greedy humans anyway. I’m sick to death of humans. 107 conmicloooks.com