“Yes,” came back the faint answer, “but it’s hard work. Can’t you shut off the current? If I make a move I’m a goner. Can’t you turn off the current?”
“We’re going to try to cut the wire,” went on the man who had thought of the plan. “We can’t get the current shut off right away. Listen carefully, George. Hold as still as you can. There’s a lad here with a rifle. He’s a good shot, he says, and he’s going to fire at the live wire until he cuts it. It’s going to be a close shave for you, as the wire is pretty near to your head. Have you nerve enough to stand it?”
“I—I guess so,” came the hesitating answer. “Go ahead!”
The crowd below was scarcely breathing. The man on the pole could be seen straining himself to maintain his perilous position. He looked down. Death was below him, and on every side, and none dare climb the pole to help him. The rifle seemed the only chance, unless some one could go five miles to the power house, and have the current turned off, or unless the electrician returned, and this would take so long that the man’s hold would loosen, and he would either fall, or be shocked to death. It all depended on Bart, and the lad knew that he must now shoot true, if he never shot straight again. It was to be his best shot—a well-nigh tragic shot.
“Clear a space for the lad!” ordered the lineman, as he and his fellows began making a circle about Bart. “Give him room. Have you got plenty of cartridges, young man?”
Bart nodded. He felt that he could not speak, and he knew that the chamber of his rifle was filled. Yet he hoped to do the trick with only one bullet.
The shot was a hard one. He must cut a wire within four inches of the shoulder of the man whose life he was trying to save, and he had to fire upward, and at a slightly swaying target—a target small enough at best, hardly more than half an inch wide. Yet Bart did not hesitate.
He took his position under the wires, and close to the pole. The crowd was looking eagerly on, and the man on the pole was like a statue. Well he knew how much depended on his remaining motionless.
Bart raised his rifle. A mist seemed to come before his eyes, but with a gritting of his teeth he got more control of himself, and then he saw clear. He took careful aim, and then he saw that he could shoot to more advantage from the other side of the pole. He would have to fire closer to the man, but the bullet would take an outward slant in cutting the wire, and there was less danger of it glancing off and wounding the lineman.