A HORSE ON ME
an Orig Prem story by
BEN J. MILLER
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1948.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Naturally a lot of strange things had happened around the Heptagon, butcertainly never before the year 2232 had a giant copper-skinned Indianin feathers and full war regalia ever chased one of Solar News' starreporters through the halls of the Time-Travel Wing. And right at thetime when Smullen was in an extra bad humor and had threatened to firethe reporter anyway.
Every time old Pain-in-the-Face made a swipe at him with a flinthatchet, Stieve Andro, panting for breath, would jump sidewise and thedozens of Solar News employees standing in the halls would laugh at him.
But it wasn't funny. The sweat pouring down Stieve's backbone was realand the anxiety on his face was honest. Stieve was running for hislife—and the Indian from 1492 was in a lot better condition than wasStieve in 2232.
"Help! Help!" Stieve's voice sounded pitiful, for it was all hecould do to gasp the words out. But the technicians, gathered at thedoor of the Calendar Department, laughed uproariously. Stieve raceddown the hall and leaped onto the fast walk and kept running.
The big Indian saw him getting away. He looked at the walk and then hestepped onto it. Immediately the walk yanked his feet from under himand he fell with a thud that shook the entire sixty-second floor of theHeptagon.
Stieve was just rounding the corner when he looked back. He groaned.The helpful technicians from Calendar were assisting the big Indian tohis feet. The Indian came after Stieve with giant strides and in justabout a minute he was breathing on Stieve's neck again. The hatchetgrazed Stieve's right parietal lobe and very nearly clipped off his ear.
Stieve was tired. His feet were hard to lift. He stumbled. The bigIndian fell over him. Stieve tried to get back up but couldn't. Hismuscles were so tired they were half paralyzed.
The big Indian got to his feet. The hatchet poised. He grabbed Stieve'shair in one hand. Stieve closed his eyes and prepared to face deathwith dignity. The Indian bellowed, "Now you behavum or I scalpumyou—but good!"
Stieve gasped. His eyes opened in hopeful incredulity. "Chief," hesaid, "that's a horse on me. What do you want?"
"Ugh! I from Guanahani. I from fourteen ninety-two. I was cop atarrival of Columbus. You remember me?"
"Yes," said Stieve with a sinking feeling. Smullen, the head ofTime-Travel, would be furious when he heard of this. Smullen had enoughto worry about already. It was bad enough to have an Indian that shouldhave been a Minnesota fullback chasing up and down the halls with ahatchet—but what would Smullen say if Stieve got into a legal tanglewith the cops of 1492?
"I here on behalf of my daughter."
"Oh," Stieve wilted. "I didn't promise to marry your daughter, mister,"he said earnestly.
"Oh, no. We not trying to find her a husband. But Orig Prem promisumher a screen test. Where is screen test? On second thought, where isOrig Prem?"
"On third thought, let me up," said Stieve, beginning to see light,"and we'll figure this out." He sat up and looked around. He wassurprised there wasn't a crowd there.
Then he saw why. He almost fainted when he saw they