While the air of the hut reeked with the acrid smoke,
the echo of the volley sounded through the silent forest-world miles
away.
But the silhouette in the window remained.
Once or twice it moved slightly as though in surprise; that was all.
The pompadour rose in bellicose retaliation--the gesture that had
always ensued when Wiley was angered or excited. But to bullets
fired from an earthly gun the silhouette of the murdered deputy's
ghost, arisen in these winter woods to prevent another slaughter,
was impervious.
Ruggam saw; he shrieked. He broke the gun and spilled out the empty
shells. He fumbled in more cartridges, locked the barrel and fired
again and again, until once more it was empty.
Still the apparition remained.
The man in his dementia hurled the weapon; it struck the sash and
caromed off, hitting the stove. Then Hap Ruggam collapsed upon the
floor.
The woman sprang up. She found the rope thongs which had bound her
pack to her shoulders. With steel-taut nerves, she rolled the
insensible Ruggam over.
She tied his hands; she tied his ankles. With her last bit of rope
she connected the two bindings tightly behind him so that if he
recovered, he would be at her mercy. Her task accomplished, on her
knees beside his prone figure, she thought to glance up at the window.
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