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Columns / Short Stories
Shep was always writing. . .

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September 1967

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The 200-Shot Daisy And The Ultimate Plink
It had happened years ago and tlme had somehow dulled the gnawings of his anguish and guilt. But now, was the world about to discover his desperate crime?




THE little scoop scratched painfully at the hazy, lumpy surface. I leaned forward and stared at my television set. Again the tiny shovel more than two hundred and ninety thousand miles away gouged into the distant soil. The commentator's calm, Official voice described the technical aspects of the fantastic scientific marvel that was taking place. Lonely little Surveyor Three, like some tiny, solitary child on a deserted beach, dug in the sand while I watched, eyes popping, gripped by some strange subterranean, inexplicable fear. It lay deep within me like a minute, festering cyst. The film flickered. It :fluttered around the edges, hazy, indistinct, scary. After all, it had come to us through almost a. quarter of a Million miles of Space...


Copyright: 1967 Field and Stream Magazine

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