Jennings turned about, defeated in his effort, but elated, nevertheless.
“I ain’t never shot no closter, even to a ol’ groundhog huntin’ his hole; hev I, buddy?” he said to Gill.
“No, nor anybody. That was drawin’ a bead some fine. An’ him movin’ an’ dodgin’ that way worse’n a cottontail through corn. Fine work, boy; fine work! I couldn’t done any better me own self.”
The big mountaineer glowed with pride; nothing pleased him more than genuine praise from his life-long pal. Jennings stood straight on the rock and swelled his chest.
“Jest you wait, Lieutenant, till I git a chanct t’ draw on the ol’ Kaiser at about three hundred yards! I’ll clip that ol’ fish tail o’ his’n on his lip fust on one side, then on t’other an’ then plant one right here.” Jennings raised his hand and tapped his forehead; with a broad grin he gazed down at the others, then suddenly toppled forward and pitched headlong among them. At the same instant a dozen leaden slugs pounded, flattened, glanced from the rocks where Jennings had stood and half of those fired from the machine gun had hit him.
CHAPTER XIX
Retaliation
“LIEUTENANT, I ain’t complainin’, I ain’t kickin’ an’ I don’t want to disobey no orders, but please let me go out an’ round up them polecats on the hill, that killed my buddy. I knows just where they’re at an’ I can do it. Please, sir, I want t’ go.”
So begged the hunter and scout Gill, the big tears rolling down his cheeks, though his features were grim with determination. Beyond the unutterable love for his dead friend and comrade, only revenge stirred him; the desire to get the very ones who had caused Jennings’ death was now his one purpose in life.