Finding a place where the moss grew thick before a great rock, he drew the girl down beside him. “Really there’s no reason to be excited.” He felt her heart’s wild beating. “Probably we’ll not see him again this night. He’s just scouting around to see who’s here. Not likely to find out much. He—”
The girl’s hand pressed hard on his arm. Off to the left there was a sound of movement. And then the moon came out.
Instantly from the bush an automatic barked. The shot had been fired at the scout. He dropped—not with a bullet wound, for the rascal had missed—but for the purpose of securing a safe position and waiting his turn. It had been many years since any one had presumed to shoot at this scout; years of peace they had been, and now this, a shot in the night. His mighty “shootin’ iron” roared its reply.
The thing that happened after that will never be fully credited by either Red or the girl, and that in spite of the fact that they saw it with their own eyes.
The moon was out in all its glory. From their observation post before the great rock they thought they made out a skulking figure off to the right and not far off the Tobin’s Harbor trail. At the same time they caught a sound of movement still further back in the bush.
“There are more, perhaps three or four of them.” Berley pressed Red’s arm hard. “They—they’re trying to surround us!”
How wrong she was they were soon enough to know, for the skulking figure, having come to rest, lifted his head so far above the thimbleberry bushes as to leave it in clear view.
“That—” Red’s voice was a bit unsteady. “That’s one of them. Sha-shall I shoot?”
“No, no. That one in the bushes will get you if you do.”
Then astonishing things began to happen. The man on the moonlit trail lifted his gun, took quick aim and fired, not at the scout, not at Red, but at the moving spot in the bushes.