The Pensacola journal. (Pensacola, Fla.) 1898-1985, 1920-08-24

all, and with quick ease, the distance
in direct line from face to face or
the gorge being even less than ordin-
airy pistol range.
The three of them drew together in
consultation. The Pearlhunter could
not make out their words, but the
manner in which they handled their
rifles, which they had managed to drag
up with them, indicated only too plain
1y the general drift of what was being
said.
With a final nod all around, they
faced the pocket, and the blacksmith
raised his rifle. The Pearlhunter
knew it would come to that; they were
men of just that caliber. The bullet
struck the roof the the scar just in
front of him, showering him with dust
and bits of shale. The second fired.
The bullet passed close to his feet and
lost itself far back in the crevice where
the two strata of shale converged.
They semed to have agreed btween
them that one should fire at the mid
die and one at either end. 1t was now
the third ones turn. The Pearlhunter
would have scrambled to the end of
the pocket where the last bullet had
struck, believing that end would not
be fired into again, but the man had
already raised his rifle. 1t takes nerve
for man to lie still and watch HIM
self shot at.
There came the hot spit of smoke;
the vicious slap of the report. But
even before he saw the one, or heard
| the other, he felt something like red
coal sting his side just under the arm
pit.
1t didn't hurt after the first sting.
but it made him mad-red mad. He
snatched out his revolver and turned
on his face. AT that distance he could
have put every bullet in his gun inside
the breadth of a vest pocket. Their
rifles were empty; it would have been
more than easy.
But he didn't. And this was why
they didn't suspect that he was there.
They would go on by, leaving him in
the rear of the drive. That was the
kind of hunters they were-storm
through the woods, shooting up nests
and firing into dens, and at the end
bring in no game.
1t all came to him after the first hot
flash? Slowly he put the revolver back
into his pocket; turned to ease, if pos
slble, the sting in his side; and lay
watching them reload Their rifles
watched them scramble down the bluff
and disappear below the rim of the
scar; heard the crunch of their boots
as they numbered away up the branch.
From somewhere, seemingly from
both east and west, voices were shout
ing, probably asking the cause of the
shots. The heavy tones of the black
smith answered, but the Pearlhunter
could not make out the words. The
voices from the east and from the
west seemed to be satisfied; the heavy
boots died away into silence; the calm
June morning settled back upon the
woods. He was behind the drive.
His side! A thousand flames had got
at 1T. Something warm and sticky ran
down under his tattered shirt and
made it mussy. The flames reached
his face and twisted it, The air seemed
to forsake the pocket He crawIed to
the front of the scar.
He couldn't take his eyes away from
the water glancing along at the foot
of the cliff. The flames had scorched
him dry. If he could only have one sup
OF the water to moisten his lips so
that the breath could get through. He
lay and watched it curling against the
ledge The woods took on coppery
color. A dead, dull silence settled on
them as if they had suddenly been
rooted in. He mildly wondered at it
and forgot it.
That flame! If he could only climb
down to the water! Why not? His
pursuers were gone; and no more
would come. He would only dip up
sup or two in his hands to cool his
throat and hurry back. He crawIed a
little nearer the opening; held his face
out over the ledge
The flame in his side became I'M
bearable. He worked his feet raound
off the brink of the scar and felt for
toe hold against the cliff Slowly he
worked his way down. His left arm
behaved strangely. 1t wouldn't go
where he wanted it to go He had to
lift it along with his right hand, but
that hand was busy holding to the
cliff 1t was a weary trouble to lift it:
he let 1t drag. The curling water was
coming nearer, but somehow his feet
and his one good hand did not seem
to take hold of the rock. They never
acted like that before. He wondered
duly to find himself slipping down the
face of the cliff.
The ledge flew up and hit him He
could hear the water right at his feet,
One of his boots actually hung over the
ledge and touched it. But it had been
weary work coming down the cliff.
He would rest a moment-just a mo-
ment-and then cool his throat and
climb back.
The ledge seemd to be rocking up
and down: the trees were dipping and
going around in a queer whirl that
made him dizzy. He had never known
trees to act like that. che tops of the
gorge were bending together. The
patch of blue sky gerw narrower and
narrower The gorge came together
-slowiy-shut out the air-shut the
sky out
A blue jay perched on an oak limb
that reached out over the gulch, tilted
an eye down at the ledge squawked a
strident alarm to his neighbors A tur-