I started up once more.
And then I heard it—a shrill blast of sound in an octave of urgency; a whistle, sure, but a warning one.
I stopped in my tracks from the shock of it. Yes, I knew from whom it had come, all right. But I didn't know why.
And then the whistle broke off short. One instant it was in the air, shrieking with a message. The next it was gone. But it left tailings, like the echo of a death cry slowly floating back over the dead body of the creature that uttered it.
I dropped behind a fragment of the rag-cliff. A shot barked out angrily. Splinters of the rock crazed the morning air.
The little boy screamed. Just once.
I waited. There was a long silence after that. Then, finally, I took off my hat and threw it out into the valley. The gun roared once more. This time I placed it a little to the left below me. I took careful sighting on the hand that held that gun—and I didn't miss it.