In this position he remained for half an hour. No sound broke the
strained stillness of the place. The horses had sagged forward, their
heads hanging, their legs braced. There was no cloud in the sky and
the clear light of the moon poured down in a yellow flood. Calumet's
task would have been easier if he could have told which of the four
rocks concealed his enemy. As it was he was compelled to watch them
all.
But presently, at the edge of one of the two larger rocks, the one
nearest the slope, he detected movement. A round object a foot in
diameter, came slowly into view from behind the rock, propelled by an
unseen force. It was shoved out about three quarters of its width, so
that it overlapped the big rock beside it, leaving an aperture between
the two of perhaps three or four inches. While Calumet watched a rifle
barrel was stuck into this aperture. Calumet waited until the muzzle
of the rifle became steady and then he took quick aim at the spot and
pulled the trigger of his six-shooter, ducking his head below the edge
of the gully as his weapon crashed.
He heard a laugh, mocking, discordant, followed by a voice--Taggart's
voice.
"Clean miss," it said. "You're nervous."
"Like you was in town today," jeered Calumet.
"Then you know me?" returned Taggart. "I ain't admittin' that I was
any nervous.
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