It was fierce work, yet bordering on the ludicrous, Jack told himself, meanwhile wondering just how long Perk’s heap of missiles would persist, also what was bound to happen when the rock pile was gone. Doubtless the near-demented man inside must be working up to a feverish pitch under the impression that he was specially designed by Providence to annihilate the whole German army and open a clear path to an Allied march all the way to Berlin!
Then silence came–a silence that seemed to brood over the scene of hostilities as might a sea fog drifting in along the coast and baffling the most skillful of flyers.
Jack had discovered a stick that was some three feet in length and remembering an old and often tried trick known to frontiersmen away back in the Kentucky days of Daniel Boone, he meant to try it out in order to see if the ammunition of the besieged man had run out on him or not–something that was really essential he should know before proceeding to extremes and breaking into the fortress that was holding himself and Perk so persistently at bay.
Removing his leather cap with its dangling earlaps, he perched it on the point of his stick and proceeded to elevate the contrivance so that it might be seen by the vigilant eyes within.
The result was all that he could have asked, showing that this venerable Indian trick was just as workable as in the days of old.
A single shot sounded dully within the shack–there was a tinkling sound as if a speeding bullet had bored a hole through a pane of glass and down fell his helmet. Jack picked it up and chuckled to find he could poke an investigating finger through a hole that had certainly not been there before. What great luck his head had not been inside that helmet, he was telling himself on thus learning the wonderful accuracy of the marksman.
Things were again at a standstill, for as long as the half demented Kearns was able to make such excellent use of his firearm it would be suicide for either of them to try and break into the shack.
One thing Jack had managed to discover with that brief peep back of the friendly bunch of orange leaves–there was a little heap of papers in the fireplace, also the precious book he yearned to possess–yes, and he could even make out a smudge as though a match had been used to start a conflagration but owing to some puff of contrary air the blaze had fizzled and gone out–an especially providential favor in their behalf Jack had told himself.
Still, at any moment now the man with the crooked mind was apt to notice how his purpose had been baffled. Then he would make a second and possibly more successful attempt to destroy all incriminating evidence as to his connection with the smuggling of rum, aliens and precious stones into the country, contrary to the laws of the land.
What could he do should this crisis come upon him, Jack was asking himself as he crouched there and counted the minutes passing by? There was only one means for counteracting such a move on the part of the enemy and Jack had already convinced himself the occasion was fully ripe for it to be tried out.