THE BATTLE
He had time to burst from the hut and race across
the clearing through the darkness which would surely
shelter him from the snap-shot of even such an expert
as Red Jim, but in mind and body Hervey was too paralyzed
by the appearance of his enemy to stir until he saw
Perris slip from his horse, slumping to the earth
after the fashion of a weary man, and drag off the
saddle. He paid no attention to tethering his
pony, but started towards the shack, down-headed, heavy
of foot.
Hervey had gained the door of the shack in the interim,
and there he crouched at watch, terrified at the thought
of staying till the other entered, still more terrified
at the idea of bolting across the open clearing.
He could see Perris clearly, in outline, for just behind
him there was a rift in the circle of trees which
fenced the clearing and Red Jim was thrown into somewhat
bold relief against the blue-black of the night sky
far beyond. He could even make out that a bandage
circled the head of Perris and with that sight a new
thought leaped into the brain of the foreman.
The bandage, the stumbling walk, the downward head,
were all signs of a badly injured and exhausted man.
Suppose he were to attack Perris, single-handed and
destroy him? The entire problem would be solved!
The respect of his men, the deathless gratitude of
Jordan were in the grip of his hand.
His fingers locked around the butt of his gun and
yet he hesitated to draw. One could never be
sure. How fast, how lightning fast his mind plunged
through thought after thought, image after flocking
image, while Red Jim made the last dragging steps
towards the door of the shack! If he drew, Perris,
despite his bent head might catch the glimmer of steel
and draw and fire at the glance of the gun. There
were tales of gun experts doing more remarkable feats.
Wild Bill, in his prime, from the corner of his eye
saw a man draw a white hankerchief, thought it a gun,
whirled on his heel, and killed a harmless stranger.
He who stops to think can rarely act. It was
true of Hervey. Then Perris, at the very door
of the hut, dropped the flopping saddle to the ground
and the foreman saw that no holster swung at the hip
of his man. Joy leaped in him. There was
no thought for the cruel cowardice of his act but
only overmastering gratitude that the enemy should
be thus delivered helpless into his hand. Through
the split part of a second that thrill passed tingling
through and through him, then he shouted: “Perris!”
and at the same instant whipped out the gun and fired
pointblank.
A snake will rattle before it strikes and a dog will
snarl before it bares its teeth: instinct forced
Hervey to that exulting cry and even as the gun came
into his hand he saw Perris spin sideways. He
fired and the figure at the door lunged down at him.
The shoulder struck Hervey in the upturned face and
smashed him backwards so that his hand flew out to
break the force of the fall, knocked on the floor,
and the revolver shot from the unnerved fingers.
