Drew had tired of the sport and had walked a dozen paces down the way. Johnny was lurking in the shadows, hoping for one more good shot, when he thought he heard a curious sound. This sound appeared to come from the shadows opposite the spot where Drew, unconscious of any danger, walked in the moonlight.
Then, of a sudden, a terrifying thing began to happen. A hand and half an arm emerged from the shadows that lay against the rotting shed. In the hand was a gun. This gun was rising slowly, steadily to a position where it would be covering Drew.
What was to be done? Johnny’s mind worked with the lightning rapidity of a speed camera.
Should he shout a warning? There was not time. Leap forward? This too would be futile. One thing remained. The movement of that hand was slow, sure. Johnny’s fingers were fast as the speed of light. He nocked an arrow, took sudden aim, and let fly. “Silent Murder” found his mark.
Came a low cry of surprise, then a thud.
“What was that?”
Drew whirled about and snatched for his own gun.
Johnny did not dare answer. What had he accomplished? Where was the hand, the gun, the man? Nocking a second arrow, he crowded further into the shadows. What was to come next? His heart pounded hard against his ribs.
Ten seconds passed, twenty, thirty.
With gun drawn, Drew advanced toward him. Johnny expected at any moment to hear a shot ring out. None did.