Callie waited by the reception desk at the hunting lodge a bit impatiently.

"Greta," she said, addressing the woman behind the desk, "you don't suppose Colonel Stoneridge has forgotten about the hunt, do you? I mean, I understand he's quite old and people often..."

"Oh, don't you worry about the Colonel," Greta said with a smile. "I've never known him to forget much of anything, let alone a chance to track a young woman. And he certainly won't miss this hunt. All I had to tell him was that you were an American and he absolutely jumped at the chance. I didn't have to tell him anything else, not even your name."

"I didn't realize we were such a popular breed," Callie said. She couldn't imagine that the Colonel would give her much of a hunt, but that really didn't matter. She only wanted a chance to explore the grounds. Studying the map of hunting grounds and even flying over them had not told her everything she wanted to know. She already had her strategy set, but, in order to be successful, an on-site visit would be necessary. When she had called offering to serve as quarry in a practice hunt, she had been willing to take pot-luck on her opponent. Actually, she was very relieved when she was told that the elderly Colonel would be hunting her. She wouldn't have to worry about getting caught before she had completed her reconnoitering.

She hoped that the Colonel wouldn't be disappointed that she was rather over-dressed for the average quarry. She understood that most women ran wearing only shoes and a deerskin top, theoretically so that they would feel more vulnerable. Well, Callie had been in more that enough hunts that she didn't need any such role-playing aids. She was wearing her custom-made running shoes, knee-high green socks and camouflage-patterned shorts. She had a sports-bra that matched the shorts but, when she saw the deerskin top that the lodge supplied, she decided that it might be fun to wear it. She had a very small, tubular pack strapped on her shoulders in which she had water bottle, a high-energy bar, a map, a compass, and a couple pens.

Looking at the clock again, Callie said, "Listen, Greta, I might as well tell you that I'm scheduled to run for Amanda Blake in two weeks, and if the Colonel doesn't arrive by nine o'clock, I want to take off and he'll have to try to track me without having gotten my scent. I guess I'm saying that I want to check out the grounds whether I'm being hunted or not."

Greta's eyebrows had raised at the mention of Amanda's name and she seemed to be about to ask a question, when she spotted the Colonel coming through the door. "Well, you don't have to worry. Here he is now."

Callie successfully suppressed the "you've got to be kidding" expression that almost showed on her face when she saw her opponent.

Colonel Stoneridge appeared to have come straight from central casting to fill the role of a nineteenth-century African explorer or excavator of Egyptian tombs, fully costumed with pith helmet and khaki shirt and shorts. If he didn't work for a British museum, Callie thought, perhaps he should be an exhibit.

"Oh, good. I'm on time," the Colonel said, glancing briefly at the clock. "I take it you must be my quarry today. I'm Colonel Stoneridge, but you can call me Stoney or Stone, if you like." He extended his hand in a gentlemanly manner.

"My name is Callie," she said, accepting the handshake.

"I am so very grateful for this opportunity. Not very often that I get a chance to track a Yank." Stone paused for a moment. "Oh, now I hope you don't take exception to that appellation. I once used the term when greeting a chap from your American Georgia and he withdrew his hand and said, 'Ah'll have you know, Suh, that Ah hail from Dixie, the Solid South.' " The Colonel did a credible Southern accent. "Had the devil's own time convincing the fellow that I hadn't intended to offend. I guess some people are still very sensitive on the subject of your Civil War. Of course, some of us Brits still carry hard feelings about the Norman Conquest, so I suppose it's to be expected."

"Well, I'm from the Midwest. We aren't sensitive about anything," Callie said with a bit of self-depreciating cheerfulness.

"You say your name is Callie? I once knew a woman who... I don't suppose that would be short for Calpurnia, would it?"

"No, just plain Callie."

Stone was somewhat disappointed. "Ah, well. Callie is a very nice name, but it is a bit of a pity, in a way. Calpurnia has such a euphonic sound. Calpurrrnia. Rolls off the tongue so nicely. Goes back to ancient Rome, you know. Of course, that would mean that you would have to be above reproach, because it was the name of..."

"Oh, yes, I know," Callie interrupted. "It was the name of Julius Caesar's wife and Caesar's wife must be above reproach."

"How wonderful!" The Colonel exclaimed. "A young person with some knowledge of ancient history. Hope for the world yet, eh? I had no idea they taught such things in American schools."

"Well," Callie confessed, "actually, I know about the name because I had a great aunt named Calpurnia. As a matter of fact, I am sort of named after her. My parents thought it would be a few too many syllables, so I'm just Callie Landers."

The Colonel gave Callie a look of astonishment. "Great aunt, you say? Landers, you say? And you're from the Midwest? Your great aunt wasn't also named Landers, was she?"

A little puzzled, Callie responded, "Well, yes. She was from my father's side of the family so, yes, that was her maiden name."

"Tell me, was she, by any chance, in the military service and did she serve in Brussels at any time?"

"Well, she is buried in the military section of the cemetery and my mother has some of her glassware that came from Belgium."

"You say she's buried? Well, I suppose she would be." The Colonel seemed a bit sad, but he brightened somewhat. "But what a small world! Greta, this young woman is Calpurnia Landers' great niece."

"Yes, I heard." Greta did not add, not that it means a damn thing to me.

"You said that Landers was her maiden name? Then she got married. Good for her."

"Yes," Callie said. "She married a man she met in the service named Robert Haywood."

"Bucky Haywood? Oh, that's wonderful. Who'd have thought? This is such a happy coincidence! You and I will have so much to talk about when I catch up with you later."

Callie didn't know how to react to this prediction except with an indulgent smile.

Stone turned to Greta. "I'm going back out to my car for a moment or two and then I'll wait in the lounge until it's time for me to start tracking Calpurn... I mean, Callie." Then to Callie, "You had best toddle along now, my dear. Be seeing you later. Callie Landers' great niece. My, my." The Colonel turned and went back to the parking lot.

"Greta," Callie said once Stone was out of sight, "he isn't serious about catching me, is he? I mean, he's a very nice old fellow, but is he delusional?"

"Oh, I think the Colonel's grasp on reality is intact." Greta smiled enigmatically.

Callie shook her head. "If you say so. But he just doesn't seem like the type who would kill a woman and eat her."

"Oh, he's not," Greta assured her. "Colonel Stoneridge doesn't approve of the practice of people hunting - at least, not when a fatal outcome is intended."

"Well, then, what's he doing here?"

"The Colonel has been a member of this lodge since long before people hunting became legal." Seeing the astonished look on Callie's face, Greta added. "Oh, it hasn't been THAT long ago - though before you were born, for sure. Anyway, most of what goes on here is very ordinary hunting: rabbits, game birds, deer, the occasional fox - that sort of thing. Look, you had better get going, Callie. It would hurt Stone's feelings a bit if he finds you dawdling here when he comes back from the parking lot. He might think you weren't taking him seriously as an opponent."

"Well, I wouldn't want that." Callie was sincere about not wanting to hurt Stone's feelings, even if, as a matter of fact, she didn't think she was in any danger of being caught. "I'll see you later."

"Good luck."

"Thanks." Callie couldn't imagine what she would need luck for.

As soon as she was out the door, Callie took out her map and compass, oriented herself, and then headed for her first destination.

It was a beautiful, sunshiny day. As a little girl, Callie had imagined that it almost always rained in England - or at least it was usually dismal and cloudy. She was very glad to have that childhood misconception corrected. With clear weather and no mud to trudge through, she figured that she should be able to see everything she needed to see in three or four hours and then have the rest of the day to refine her plan.

As she headed north into the woods, Callie reflected that this would be her first "not for blood" hunt since she was in college, and that seemed a long, long time ago.

Women's athletic scholarships were hardly the equal of those given to male football players, and Callie's scholarship to the State University had paid for tuition and room and board - if she wanted to live on campus in a dormitory. If, however, she wanted any "luxuries," like clothing and books and pens and paper (not to mention time in a computer lab), she would have to find the money for those herself.

Fortunately, she was able to land a part-time gig that capitalized on her athletic abilities and, in fact, honed them even further, but did not threaten her amateur status. It was also quite financially rewarding: in a couple Sundays a month, she could support herself very well.

Callie ran as quarry in paint-ball/paint-stick mock hunts. The job description was very simple: run around in the woods wearing shoes, a headband, protective eye-gear and as little else as you cared to while men tried to splatter you with paint or get close enough to mark you with a stick. Women who wore nothing above their ankles and below their chins got paid a bit more. Women who volunteered to be "trophy girls" would make double the money.

Each hunter used a different color of paint. Hitting a woman with a paint-ball scored one point; tagging her with a paint-stick scored 5 points. At the end of the day, the hunter who had the highest score was declared the winner. In addition to collecting whatever cash the hunters had thrown into the pot, the winner was entitled to fuck one of the trophy girls that he had managed to mark - he picked the girl, of course. Non-trophy girls wore a red head band, trophy girls wore green.

Callie started out cautiously. She chose to wear a string bikini (she didn't want any embarrassing pictures turning up in later life) and, at first, she always wore a red headband.

After a few months of running in hunts, however, Callie realized that she might as well collect the double wages that came with being a trophy girl because she never got hit or marked. She, in fact, earned the nickname of "Spotless Cal" among afficionados of the sport and, after two years, she was usually considered worth double points if a hunter would ever manage to get some paint on her.

The secret to her success was, in part, no secret at all. She was simply too fast for any hunter weighted down with gear to be able to tag her with a paint-stick.

As for being hit from a distance, that required more explanation. For one thing, she had developed a technique for changing direction in mid-stride that almost defied the laws of physics and physiology; even she couldn't explain how she managed to avoid damaging her knees in the rapid twists. Her track coaches would wince if they saw some of her moves.

What was even more inexplicable, was that she had an almost infallible instinct for knowing when a hunter was about to fire his weapon, even when she had her back to him.

Guesses could be made as to where this ability came from.

Did she pick up auditory clues? But the paintaballs travelled too fast to move out of their way once they'd been fired, even if they weren't supersonic.

The quarry met the hunters face to face before each hunt. Was she able to get a sense of their timing in that brief encounter?

Could it have been a residual benefit of her years of racing? She hadn't been penalized for a false start since her sophomore high school year, but tape after tape showed that she was invariably the first runner off the starting block. It seemed that she could tell that the starting gun would fire just a split second before it happened, and that got her adrenaline pumping just enough to give her an edge in starts.

Maybe it was a psychic ability.

Maybe it was just simply lucky guessing.

Whatever the cause, her anticipatory capabilities rarely failed her, and when they did, the hunter was always a bad shot. It seemed that the better the hunter, the more reliable Callie's instincts became. One of her girlfriends who minored in parapsychology had theorized that this was because good hunters had strong personalities and people with strong personalities tended to be strong psychic "senders."

When the hunts were over, hunters and quarry would party together and very often the winner wasn't the only hunter who got laid. All in all, it was a good time - harmless fun with heavy sexual overtones. While her well-toned, muscular body certainly made her stand out from the usual run of jiggle-bunnies who made up most the quarry, she did not go without appreciation. Far from it. For those men who were attracted to her body type - and there were quite a few of them - Callie was usually the only "game" in town. She got as much attention as she wanted and then some.

Callie found herself wondering how many of these guys would be using real bullets if they could afford the much higher cost of a real hunt. Was the chance to splatter her with paint just a substitute for what they would really like to do? How many of these guys would kill her for real if they had a chance? Sometimes, she thought she could tell for sure. More often, she didn't have a clue.

Only once did Spotless Cal fail to live up to her name - and that was deliberate.

After she got out of her small-town environment and into the more cosmopolitan university milieu, Callie's sexual preferences began to tilt more and more towards women. However, she never got to the point where she was exclusively lesbian in her tastes. A deep chest, chiseled facial features, a manly sense of confidence - these amounted to a combination that she never even tried to resist. Mark Hamilton possessed all of these attributes and when Callie saw him among the members of one of the hunting parties, she decided, oh, yeah, this is the day I let myself get wet - in more ways than one, I hope.

Mark had been two years ahead of Callie at the University and they had been in a couple classes together. She had noticed him looking at her many times and she was sure that he would have liked to approach her but he was probably afraid of what his fraternity brothers would think of him if he went out with a "girl jock." He was from a very affluent background and that somewhat intimidated her, so she never made the first move, something she was normally quite capable of doing.

Well, here they were, out in the woods with no social pressures. The whole premise of the hunt was to "bag and bed a babe" and Callie knew that Mark thought of her as a "babe.". She decided to give him his chance. Not only did she make sure that he had a nice, clear shot at her (which he made), but she did her best to assure that he was the big winner by luring a few of her fellow quarry into his sights. She didn't consider this a violation of Uncle Jake's commandment that she always play to win: no woman who wound up with Mark between her legs could be considered a loser.

When Mark was declared the winner and all the trophy girls he had managed to hit were lined up for his selection, Callie exuded confidence that, at last after years of lusting from afar, their magnificent bodies would connect in a glorious celebration of primal urges.

Therefore, she could hardly keep her astonished disappointment from showing when Mark selected another woman as his prize. She recovered quickly, being the good sportswoman that she was. She smiled, patted the chosen girl on the shoulder and gracefully went to join the rest of the quarry and hunters in post-contest partying while Mark and his trophy went to a cabin.

She drank far more than she usually did at these events and was not very sociable. After two hours, she had withdrawn to a corner, where she sat on the floor trying (very unsuccessfully) to avoid the appearance of sulking.

Okay, she told herself, no big deal. Doris has the biggest tits - that's all there is to it. Some guys always go for the girl with the biggest tits. Maybe Mark's mother weaned him too early - or, more likely, too late. Well, if he's going to pass up his one chance at me, it's his loss. Hope the two them fall asleep and the bitch accidentally suffocates him with those humongous jugs. Serve the prick right.

Callie eyed the group of hunters and resolved that she was going to offer to take them all on, just show the cock-sucking mother-fuckers what a real fuck from a real woman could be like. Give them a chance to find their ultimate ecstasy, wedged in the vice-like grip of thighs of steel. The legs of death. Abandon all hope, ye who enter my pussy. Wonder how many of these mother-fucking cock-suckers ever heard of the Indian death goddess Kali. The spelling's all fucked up, but sounds just the same as mine. I'll show all these mother-sucking cock-fuckers. I'll fuck 'em all. Every one of them. Starting right now - or just as soon as I decide which foot to move first.

By the time Callie had determined the correct order in which to initiate ambulation, Mark was standing over her with a concerned look on his face.

"What's the matter, Callie? Why don't you join the party?"

"Oh, if it isn't Marcus Areolas-are-us." Callie snorted. "Little attempt at wordplay drawing on subject matters from Humanities One and anonymity, uh autonomy, uh, anatomy. Not bad for a big, dumb girl jock, huh?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Are you all done with your big fucking victory celebration? Was it good for you? Did you get enough of what you like? Was it really, really TITillating? Best and biggest you ever had?"

"You're upset that I didn't pick you, aren't you?" There was nothing malicious or disingenuous in his tone.

"No, I'm upset that you're between me and the bar. Move your ass before I move it for you. Us girl jocks are nothing you want to tangle with." She started to get up.

"Callie, the reason I didn't pick you isn't what you're thinking."

"Oh, so not only am I not the pick of the titter litter - I'm not even worth a shit as a mind reader. You're pissing me off more and more every second."

"Callie, I didn't pick you because I didn't want what I hope will be our first date to be a matter of winning a contest." He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Callie, I want to go out with you, date you. I want to win your heart - not your just body. If you and I go to bed, I want it to be unambiguously because we like each other and not because of the outcome of some dumb game."

Suddenly, all of Callie's hardness melted away. "Why, that's the most sweetest thing anybody ever said to my face." Callie looked up at him as though she were seeing him through a parting fog. "Did you know that you're the most beautiful thing on God's good green earth?"

"Glad you think so." Mark laughed. "Callie, will you go out with me sometime?"

"Uh, well, part of me wants to - I mean, REALLY wants to. But let me get back to you on that after I ask the rest of me what I think because I can't let that one part run the whole show, even if it is a very important part." Callie gave the best imitation of being thoughtful that she could manage and then said, "Sure. I'll go out with you. Do you want to go someplace right now or would you like me to get sober first? I think I can manage to do that in a day or three or four."

"I do want you sober and fully aware. And I'm not going to take that yes as a firm commitment. I want to hear it from you again when you're in complete possession of your faculties."

"Ya know, you're a real gentleman, not to take advantage of poor little drunken girl jock. I like that in a man." Callie started to get up and then slumped back into her corner. "Uh, why don't you get me a cup of coffee and we'll get to work on this getting sober project."

"Sure," Mark agreed. "Would you like cream and sugar?"

"I thought you wanted to wait until I was sober." Callie laughed uncertainly. "That was a dirty joke I just made, wasn't it?" Seeing his smile, she added. "Good. That's what I thought. Just checking. No, I'll take it straight and black, black as dark Mama Kali. And when you get back you can tell me what it's like to be with a woman with really, really big knockers - not that it's anything I would want to do, of course - not right now, at least."

This was the beginning of an affair that was filled with lots of laughs, more than its share of truly tender and loving moments, and the best straight sex Callie had ever had to that point in her life. There was no animosity when they parted ways; the lovers simply realized the difficulties of maintaining long-distance relationship - Mark had moved to the West Coast and Callie wanted to do at least a year of graduate work at the University.

Callie had many happy and erotic memories of her time with Mark and she had absolutely no regrets at all about anything that happened between them. No regrets. She told herself, it was just one of those things.

Just one of those crazy flings.
One of those bells that now and then rings.
Just one of those things.
It was just one of those nights,
Just of those fabulous flights,
A trip to the moon on gossamer wings,
Just one of those things.

No, there was nothing to feel bad about. There wasn't any failure on his part or her part. Something like this was bound to happen.

If we'd thought of it
To the end of it,
When we started painting the town,
We'd have been aware
That our love affair
Was too hot not to cool down.

She didn't feel any anger. She didn't hate him. She didn't have any hard feelings. She wasn't even sad. Not really. Not much.

So, good-bye, dear. Amen.
Here's hoping we meet now and then.
Well, it was great fun,
But it was just one...
Of...
Those...
Things.

Callie had no self-doubts, no misgivings. She didn't question what had happened.

Well, not quite.

There was one thing that bothered her. One unresolved matter.

She found herself wondering, both during the relationship and after its end.....

Wouldn't it really have been exciting if Mark HAD claimed her as a trophy?

Wouldn't it really be nice to be won as a prize?

Thrown over his shoulder and carried off proudly.

To the victor belong the spoils.

Yeah!

That's me - the spoils. The prize. The laurel wreath. The big score.

The whole enchilada.

I don't want to be wooed,

I want to be WON.

Callie had almost completed her survey of the hunting grounds by one o'clock. She only had one more location that she wanted to check out before she started retracing her steps and refining her plans.

She was grateful that there had been no interference at all from the Colonel. Nice old guy, she thought as she entered a clearing. Wonder if he had any luck at all following my trail? A nice walk in the fresh air is good for someone his age, but I hope he's not going to be too disappointed that he doesn't catch me.

"Hail Callie," the Colonel called out cheerfully from the middle of the clearing. He was sitting in front of a Sterno cooker with a pot atop it.

"Huh?" Callie couldn't believe her eyes. What the fuck?

Stone looked at his pocket watch. "You've arrived a full fifteen minutes before I expected you. No matter. The water's just about ready to boil. I do hope you'll accept a cup of tea."

"Uh, I don't do caffeine." Callie didn't feel like adding, unless I'm trying to get sober in a hurry.

"Oh, quite so. Of course. You're a young woman very concerned about her body and what she puts into it - that's obvious at first sight. That's why I took the liberty of pilfering some camomile tea from the lodge's kitchen." Stone held up a tea bag. "Now, I hope you don't mind that it's in a bag. I suppose that, being an American, you're rather used to that."

Callie found herself blinking as though she thought the Colonel and his tea might be a mirage that would disappear. "Uh, that will be fine. I don't mind a bag at all. How did you know...?"

"That you liked camomile? Actually, that was all the kitchen had to offer." With some distaste, Stone placed the tea bag in a cup and poured some hot water over it.

"No, uh, that's not what I was going to ask. How did you know where to find me?" Was this fellow some sort of wizard?

"Oh, that. Well, I'm afraid it wasn't difficult at all. Won't you have seat?" He gestured toward a folding stool identical to his own placed on the opposite side of the Sterno cooker..

"Uh, sure." Though she accepted the hospitality, Callie felt like Alice in Wonderland. Stone, however, hardly seemed to be the Mad Hatter. In fact, Callie was sure that any observer would consider him the more sane of the two of them..

As she approached she saw noticed an open notebook and a much larger version of the same map she had been using spread out on the ground beside the Colonel. A black line on the map traced the first part of her course perfectly and a red line continuing from the black line looked nearly as accurate.

"I'm afraid I can't be at all proud of having tracked you down." The Colonel handed Callie the cup of tea.

"Thank you."

"You're most welcome. No, it was rather easy to see what you were up to."

Callie had felt fairly secure in her plan, but now she was beginning to have serious doubts about it. " How so?"

"Well, Greta mentioned that you have a rendevous with Amanda Blake coming up in a fortnight, so it's clear that you wanted a chance to explore the grounds a bit." Stone put some of the blackest tea Callie had ever seen into a cup and poured water over it. "Now, that's a very sensible idea - I mean, wanting to familiarize yourself with the grounds. In my opinion, deciding to let Amanda Blake hunt you isn't sensible at all, of course."

Callie caught herself nodding. This gesture came so automatically that it made her wonder if, subconsciously, she might be in complete accord with the Colonel.

"Now, you aren't the first woman to decide to check out the grounds before a life and death contest with Amanda. As a matter of fact, I tracked a very charming young woman named Rachel a few years ago who was on a similar reconnaissance mission. She, however, required five practice hunts before she came up with a plan and she had three more runs to perfect it. You, on the other hand, only asked for one practice hunt and so I'm forced to conclude that you already have a plan."

Shit, Callie thought, I am as transparent as clear glass.

"Evaluating your physique, which by the way, reminds me very much of your great-aunt Calpurnia - you favor her strongly." Stone smiled, apparently at a pleasant memory, then went on. "Ah, yes. Considering your physique and also taking into account your shoes..."

"My shoes?" Callie looked at her feet.

"Well, they've been designed specifically for running and are of a very high quality. These days, one doesn't expect a young person to realize the value of good footwear, but I would venture that those were custom made for you. Am I right?"

Callie nodded.

"So, I suspected that your plan involved running and that suspicion was very much confirmed by your initial movements. I would imagine that you made good use of that map in your hand and probably also a compass." Stone produced a pen, turned toward the map on the ground, and used the pen to direct her attention. "There are a number of areas on the grounds that are several acres large and fairly devoid of trees. Those clearings form a rough oval. You went immediately north to the area of that description that lies nearest the lodge." Stone leaned down and touched the black line on the map. "Once you were there, you investigated the area, moving counter-clockwise, apparently looking for an easy path to the next clearing in the oval, located to the north-northwest of the first."

"I see what you mean. My plan is plain as the nose on my face," Callie admitted.

"And a very nice nose it is - another characteristic you share with your great aunt. Well, I followed you as far as the third clearing and decided that there was no point in going further. You were moving around the oval counter-clockwise and you were destined to end up where we are now. So, I decided to just take a shortcut and come directly here, set up some refreshment, and wait for you. Oh, by the way, you are right-handed, aren't you?"

"Uh, yes." How could he...? Wait, ninety percent of the population is right-handed. Don't let yourself be completely dazzled, girl.

Stone picked up the open notebook and jotted something in it. "I've amassed a great deal of data on handedness and the direction a person moves when investigating an open space, correlated, of course, with factors of gender and age." Stone sighed. "However, all of my subjects are from the northern hemisphere. I do hope that I get a chance to track a few Aussies and Kiwis someday. I have a theory that whether a person is used to perceiving the the sun as moving clockwise or counter-clockwise may have a bearing on how he or she explores unfamiliar spaces. What do you think?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure. That makes sense," were the words that came out of Callie's mouth, but the look on her face said, "What? Me, think? Hasn't my performance just proven that I'm pretty much devoid of thought?"

Stone laughed in a good-natured manner. "Oh, my dear girl! I'm afraid you're rather bewildered that I managed to catch up with you so easily."

Callie made a weak smile. "Yeah. 'Bewildered' is a good word. That sums up how I'm feeling pretty well."

"I take it that your plan is basically to outrun Amanda, taking whatever advantage of open spaces you can. Am I correct?"

"Yes. That's pretty much my plan." Being reminded of her strong suit encouraged Callie a bit. After all, while she hadn't managed to elude Stone, she certainly could outrun him. Her strategy regarding Amanda didn't depend on elusiveness; it depended on speed.

"Hmm." Stone sipped his tea. "I don't know if I would really count on that. Amanda is rather fleet of foot herself, you know." Seeing a skeptical look on Callie's face, he added. "Oh, don't get the idea that the fact that she's big means that she can't run. Why, she once saved the life of one of her quarry by carrying her running naked through the night. As I understand, the woman's injuries were so severe that she surely would have bled to death if Amanda had not conveyed her with incredible speed."

Callie felt that something didn't compute. "Amanda saved one of her quarry? You mean she had the woman in her hands and not only didn't kill her, but actually saved her?"

"Well, that was a very special circumstance," Stone explained. "Amanda was, indeed, just about ready to kill the woman when a poacher shot her. Our Miss Blake won't brook any interference in her hunts. She not only disposed of the poacher, but she saved Rachel as well."

"Rachel? You mean the one with the eight practice hunts? And Amanda still caught her?"

"No. Same woman. Different hunt. The one she prepared for so arduously for - that came out in her favor." Stone chuckled. "In that hunt Rachel pulled more tricks on Amanda than one would expect from Br'er Rabbit in those charming stories by your American writer Joel Chandler Harris. Of course, there were other factors that..."

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but are you saying that someone got away from Amanda and then let Amanda hunt her a second time?"

"Other way about. Amanda caught her in their first hunt."

Callie realized that she was indeed Alice and she had stepped through a looking glass into a world in which everything was backwards. Rachel had lost and enjoyed it so much that she wanted to do it again. Callie looked to see if there were a dormouse hiding in her tea cup.

"Yes, it is a bit of a puzzle, isn't it?" Stone laughed. "Well, there were complex emotions involved."

Emotions. Energies within and between people. Rachel. Amanda. Callie processed information.

"Wait!" she exclaimed. "Her name was Rachel? Is that the same woman who...?"

"Is in Amanda's tv show? Yes, one and the same."

Callie had seen the on-screen chemistry between the women. "Are Rachel and Amanda, uh, close?" She could have kicked herself for asking.

"Ho! I wouldn't know much about that!" Stone reflected, then added, "Hmm. I suppose they are as close as two people can be who have polar opposite views and irreconcilable differences and who are as stubborn as the day is long."

"What views? What differences?" Those questions Callie asked Stone while asking herself, why do I care?

"For one thing, there's the matter of hunting people to the death. Rachel is dead set against it and Amanda is, well, Amanda."

Too much absurdity to deal with. Callie tried to shake Rachel and Amanda out of her head. She shifted the subject slightly. "You aren't very keen on hunting people, either, are you? I mean, hunting for blood."

"Oh, my, no! Barbaric practice, really. Still, one has to live in one's own times. O tempores! O mores!" Stone sighed heavily. "Since the libertarian revolution, well, what was that expression that was popular in the States a few decades ago? 'Anything goes.' "

"Yes," Callie smiled. "There was a song. It went:

" 'Times have changed and we've often rewound the clock,
" 'Since the Puritans got a shock
" 'When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
" 'If, today, any shock they would try to stem,
" 'Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
" 'Plymouth Rock would land on them.' "

"Yes," said Stone. "I know that song.

" 'In olden days, glimpse of stocking
" 'Was looked on as something shocking.
" 'But now, God knows
" 'Anything goes.
" 'Good authors too who once knew better words
" 'Now only use four-letter words
" 'Writing prose.
" 'Anything goes.' "

Callie continued the refrain:

" 'If driving fast cars you like
" 'If low bars you like,
" 'If old hymns you like,
" 'If bare limbs you like,
" 'If Mae West you like,
" 'Or me undressed you like,
" 'Why, nobody will oppose.
" 'When ev'ry night the set that's smart is in-
" 'Dulging in nudist parties in
" 'Studios.
" 'Anything goes.' "

"Ah," Stone sighed, "even truer now than when it was written."

"Yes," Callie agreed. "I think Cole Porter was an absolute genius. He wrote words, music, and even the story for some of his musicals. I think of him as Gilbert and Sullivan both in one person."

"Well, national pride might influence my judgement on the comparison, but, yes, he was a genius."

Wanting a bit more diversion from the heady matters of life and death, Callie continued, "Some of the lyrics to that song, though, were so topical that I'm afraid that people don't 'get' them today. Like the lines that go:

" 'If Sam Goldwyn can, with great conviction
" 'Instruct Anna Sten in diction,
" 'Then Anna shows
" 'Anything goes.'

"Now, I guess anyone who knows anything about classic American movies knows that Sam Goldwyn was a Hollywood producer, and could probably guess that Anna Sten was one of his actresses. But, in order to really get a laugh out of the line, you have to know that Sam Goldwyn had a very thick Eastern European accent."

"Ah, yes," Stone chuckled. "Poor Anna. Didn't have much of a career for a girl who was discovered at age 15 by no less than Konstantin Stanislavsky himself - you know, the method acting chap. I'm sure Goldwyn hired tutors for her. If he had tried to teach her how to lose a Russian accent himself, it would surely have been a case of the blind leading the blind."

The mention of "the blind leading the blind" somehow reminded Callie of her own ineptness as, but she tried not to be too hard on herself; after all, she wasn't really trying to elude Stone. Nevertheless, he had seen her plan in an instant and had, in fact, "won" the hunt. If something similar happened with Amanda, well, she had a future as leftovers in Amanda's freezer.

She had to admit, she could use some help. Stone seemed to be full of knowledge of all kinds. It certainly wouldn't hurt to listen to anything he had to say.

Time to leave the world of entertainment and get back to the main reason why she was there.

"So," Callie said after taking a sip of her tea, "you don't think very much of my plan, I take it."

"Oh, I didn't mean to say that. No, no. I think you might very well be able to outrun Amanda. She's a superb all-round athlete, but you are a specialist. And the motivation factor will be on your side. You'll be running for your life and Amanda will be running for her dinner. Of course, in the case of Amanda, that can be very powerful motivation." After a brief pause, Stone added, "There is one very basic thing, however, that does bother me about your plan: While you may be able to outrun Amanda, you can't possibly be fast enough to outrun an arrow."

"Well, Amanda did agree not to use her bow and arrows in the hunt," Callie said with a smile.

"Hm. Gave that up, did she? Well, you must be quite a negotiator, my dear. Congratulations. Of course, I suppose Amanda could use a boomerang."

"A boomerang?"

"Yes. One of those curved missiles that the aborigines in Australia use. Devilishly clever things."

"Yes, I know what they are." Callie had, in fact, experimented with trying to carve and throw one as a self-defense. She had been allowed to carry a knife in every blood hunt she had participated in. Once, with a special motivation, she had successfully used one, but she had felt that she had been very lucky that day. "They aren't easy to throw. It takes a lot of skill."

"Indeed. Of course, in trained hands, they can be quite deadly."

"Well, Amanda has agreed, in general, not to try to kill me from a distance." Callie was glad to remind herself of that.

"No long range deadly force at all? My, you ARE a negotiator. Your great aunt would be proud. You know, she once..." Stone stopped himself from reminiscing. "I'll save that story for another time. Well, I suppose that leaves Amanda only the option of using a bola or some such thing."

"A bola? Oh! I hadn't even thought of that." Callie was stunned that she had overlooked this. Nothing in her conversation with Amanda had precluded the use of a bola.

"I don't know much about them. I can't imagine that they require the same level of skill as archery or throwing a boomerang. I think it's mostly a matter of timing and strength."

"And Amanda certainly has plenty of strength. And the timing can't be that hard. You just have to know when to let go of the strap." Rats, I'm sunk!

"A bola wouldn't do much good in the woods, of course. But your strategy relies heavily on being in the open. I suppose there are defenses possible, but I'm not sure what they would be. All one has to be to do is to wrap the thing around the legs of the target."

Callie thought, Crap, I thought I was doing so well when I got Amanda to agree not to use the bow, but otherwise, anything goes. Anything goes. Hmm.

"You know, Colonel, there is another reference to a particular person in that song we were discussing a few minutes ago. Do you remember this one?"

Callie sang a few lines.

Stone looked at her somewhat puzzled.

"Now, let me show you a little trick I learned."

Callie made her demonstration.

Stone laughed and said, "Well, that's very good, my dear. I'm not sure how helpful it will be and I wouldn't count on it working more than once. If I were you, I would try to get a few more things into my arsenal than that."

"You mentioned that Rachel had quite a few tricks. Do you suppose you could tell me about them without, uh, feeling that you were betraying a fellow hunter?"

"Oh, certainly. Amanda herself enjoys talking about them. I don't know how much good they will do you, though. I wouldn't expect Amanda to fall for the same thing twice."

"Probably not. But they might be inspirational."

"I'll make you a deal, my dear. I'll tell you as much as I know about that hunt if you will reciprocate by telling me something of about great aunt's life after she went back to the States."

"It's a deal, if we can do our talking walking. I want to go back over my route." Callie offered her hand.

"Fair enough." Stone accepted the handshake. "But first, let me look at your map and compare it with my own. Let me see just how accurate I was."

"Sure." Callie spread her map out on the ground beside Stone's.

After looking for a few moments, Stone pointed to difference in the two maps. "Here, my dear, I'm afraid you missed something, if your marks are accurate. There is a much faster route between these two clearings. You have to re-enter the woods on the opposite side. It may seem as though doing so takes you away from your destination, but actually, you will encounter a nice clear path after going a few yards. A brace of larch trees marks an excellent place to leave the clearing."

"I don't think I would recognize a larch. They aren't common in North America. I think they're used mainly for ornamental purposes."

"Well, I'll give you a bit of a forestry lesson, then." Stone stood up and began to fold his stool.

Callie and the Colonel spent a very pleasant afternoon, strolling and chatting. Callie talked about Aunt Calpurnia and Stone told her everything he knew of Amanda's hunts with Rachel. He also pointed out some things about the hunting ground that she might have overlooked. In order that Callie could cover more territory, she and Stone parted a few times, Stone taking a short cut to the third or fourth clearing in her route where they reunited.

At the end of the day, Stone treated Callie to dinner in the lodge's lounge. After exchanging a few tales of Aunt Calpurnia, Stone turned the conversation back to the matter of the upcoming hunt.

"I don't mean to be critical or patronizing, Callie, but I must say I don't understand why a young woman like yourself - or any woman for that matter - would risk her life going up against Amanda Blake. The woman will kill you if she can, and she will enjoy it. In my judgement, it would be a terrible waste if she were to cut your life short. If I'm not being intrusive, may I ask why you are doing this? You don't seem to be the type who has a death wish."

"Funny you should use that phrase. Amanda used it, too. She said she would be perfectly willing to chase me down just for the sport of it."

"Did she, indeed?" Stone reflected. "I suppose that shouldn't be such a surprise. She does love a good contest. I'm sure she was being sincere. She may be a blood-thirsty killer, but she is honest. I have to give her that. Why don't you accept her offer? You don't strike me as the type who needs the money paid for a blood hunt. I'm sure Amanda would enjoy competing for a lesser stake than your life."

"She might," Callie agreed. "It's just that I wouldn't enjoy it as much."

"I hope you understand that I find that a very curious statement. Would you mind explaining what you mean? Would you indulge me?"

"I'll try my best."

Callie talked, relating her story in even more detail than she had given Amanda. Stone listened.

When she had finished, Stone understood what he had previously considered to be unfathomable.

Callie was not crazy.

She was not suicidal, either.

She was not even addicted to danger.

Given her premises, given who she was and where she had been and what she had experienced, there was logic and coherence to her explanation.

Rachel's motivations for her second hunt with Amanda were buried in emotions that she didn't understand until after the hunt was over.

There was no such confusion in Callie's mind.

Stone had to admit that challenging Amanda Blake was an appropriate thing for Callie to do.

Stone saw that Callie had a need and challenging Amanda was the best means available for satisfying it.

It was best because Amanda was... what Amanda was.

However...

Stone responded to Callie's story by telling her a story, which touched on a subject that had been mentioned earlier in the day. It was a story that Callie had heard before and, in fact, many people knew it, but it was interesting to hear when told by an Englishman, especially Stone.

After story-telling time was over, Callie thanked Stone for dinner and all their conversation that day and said that she hoped they would see each other again soon.

Callie drove back to her hotel and called Amanda to ask for a meeting to finalize the arrangements for the hunt.