He braced his foot in the crotch of the tree, lowered the other to feel his way down.
He dropped to another branch—and it snapped!
Just then the moon sailed from under a cloud and touched him as brightly as a searchlight.
A hoarse cry came from a few feet away. “Look out! Sniper in that tree!”
André saw the glint of the gun barrel swinging up toward him.
But a louder voice from the man dangling in the tree shouted, “Hold it. Hold it, Slim. It’s just a kid. I can see him. Don’t shoot. Say, somebody come over here and cut me down.”
André’s stiffened body relaxed, and he began to feel his way among the dim branches. Several men had gathered at the foot of the tree, whispering, and one of them lifted his voice angrily. “What’s a kid doin’ in a tree this time of night? Something funny here.”
“Okay. Okay. We’ll find out. But get me down before this harness cuts me in two.”
André called, “Don’t shoot me. I’m coming down. I want to help.”