a time, when a crazy puncher had shot a comrade, and was brought to bay over his dead pony.
Then again, it might be that the man did not really want to do the boy serious injury, and was only trying to frighten him off. It was as much as a warning that the unseen enemy had his range, and the next shot would be more exacting.
Adrian did not stand there irresolute. He knew when to act, and how to go about it. The first thing he did when that shot sounded, and he knew he had been the target at which the missile had been sent, was to roll over upon the ground as though he had been hit.
Almost as soon as he landed he was pushing himself in shape so as to look over the slight knob of ground just in front of where he lay, and watch the spot from which that little puff of smoke had leaped. It was alongside the haystack to which he had been sent by Uncle Fred; and the chances seemed to be that the fellow who fired must be the one whose hand had already put a match to the blazing heap.
Thus looking, Adrian believed he saw the slightest of movements amidst the hay. This seemed to tell him that the other must be peering out again, to see whether the coast were clear, so that he could either beat a hasty retreat, or else continue his work of destroying the feed, by using which the
cattle might be kept shut up for days at a time in the enclosures.
Determined to teach him a lesson the boy pulled the trigger of his rifle, having taken a quick snap judgment on the spot where he believed the other to be hidden.
His expectations were more than realized, for instantly there was a whoop, and from behind the stack a whirling figure came in sight. It was one of the “suspects” and from the way he kept clawing at his left arm the boy guessed that his lead had found its billet all right.
He gained his feet, and with rifle ready for more work if necessary, started to hasten toward where the fellow was dancing about, shrieking with the pain of his wound, and all else forgotten.
About the same time Mr. Comstock came running up.