American Falls press. [volume] (American Falls, Idaho) 1907-1937, 1922-02-03

low meant to waylay him, and he, too,
stepped behind a tree, a big hemlock.
A silent minute went by. Then Dale
put his hat u OF one side of the tree
and peeped from the other side; it
was an old trick that Grandpap More
land had told him about. A rifle
cracked promptly and sharply, and a
bullethOle appeared in the rim of his
hat!
Following It, there came the coarse,
bass voice Of Black Adam Ball, the
mountaIneer Goliath:
"YOu CANT fool me. 1 Jest shot to
put a hole In yore new hat and to
show We at l amt no bad shot. You
CANT hit my hati"
Dale's temper, the temper that had
always been 80 hard to keep under
control. rose quickly. He tried to rea-
son with himself, and couldn't; his
passion mastered him. He snatched
the big revolver from its holster and
cooked it. With as steady a hand as
ever held a weapon trained, he began
to take aim at Balls SLOUGH hat, the
half Of which was in plain view at one
side of the scrubby oak,
"T fooled you once, back there in
the middle of the river he cried hot
~, sand 10Y I'm going to fool you
ngainr"
There was in his voice that old, old
primitive rage, which frightened him,
and puzzled him too, In his better mo-
ments.
He let down the bead until II was
barely visible in the notch, and eased
off the trigger. The revolver roared
and spat forth a tiny tongue of fame
and a little cloud Of white smoke. Ball
sprang erect, wheeled, and fell crash
ing to the leavesl
Dale dropped his weapon. He went
as white as death, and his two hands
ciutched uncertainty at his throat. He
was a murdererl No, he wasn't-his
bullet had gone wild; 1t had struck
Balls head on the other side of the
tree, by accident. But how could he
prove that 1t had been an accident?
Would any jury believe him7 1t was
far from probable.
He stepped from behind the hem
lock and went toward the writhing
Goliath, whose legs only were visible
now.
Then a third shot rang out on the
morning stiffness. It had beer fired
from a point some little distance
QNUaU and noIn1c aanIfA{~r % -.4--l -
the moment was such that he didn't
even note the direction from which
the sound had come. He was unhurt,
and he had not heard the whine Of a
bullet OIL. the pattering OF shot on the
leaves. When he looked about him,
he saw no one neither did he see any
telltale smoke. Perhaps, he thought
dimly, 1t had been a squ~irrel-hunter
that had fired that shot. He forgot
about 1t very quickly for the time be-
Ing, and went on toward Adam Ball,
who now was lying perfectly still.
There was a bullet-hOle through and
through the great, shaggy head. The
face behind the short, curly black
beard was of the oolorless hue Of
soapstone. The giant hillman was
dead.
Bill Dale knelt there beside Black
Adam. Again he clutched at his throat
with his two shaking hands, and this
time he tore his blue flannel shirt. All
the agony and all the remorse in the
universe seemed to be gathering there
In his heart. Never before had he
seen death. It's grim presence terrified
him. That the d%epi0rable thing had
been an accident, due to his faulty
craftsmanship, mattered little. He
had killed a man. snd the blood-red
brand Of Cain was burning away on
his brow; he was a man In a hell of
his own making. And kneeling there
Bill Dale sobbed a great sob that
shook his broad shoulders as a violent
ague would have shaken them.
He tried to look at the b~lue-edged
hole in the shaggy head at the cruel,
british face that was Of the colorless
hue of soapstone. Merciful tears
blinded him, and he couldn't see. 1t
a compensation, a pitifulIy beauti-
full compensation.
Five minutes passed, five minutes
that were as five years to this man
who had never been in the presence
of death before. Then he realized that
he was being surrounded by kinsmen
Of the dead mountaineer. He looked
up into their ashen, angry faces, ans
they cursed him. Big and gripping
brown hands were placed upon him;
several rifles were turned upon him.
He arose and spread out his arms, and
offered his breast to the frowning muz-
Eles. They could give him. at least,
oblivion.
"shoot, II You like" he said bitterly,
'It vas an accident, y'know, Dur
shoot, If you like"
mo-" commanded Adam Balls
a slender and angular old man
with a struggling iron-gray beard
mo. don't shoot. Shootin,s too quick