Carrigan found that he could peer between his pack and the rock to
where the other warbler was singing--and where his enemy lay
watching for the opportunity to kill. It was taking a chance. If a
movement betrayed his loophole, his minutes were numbered. But he
had worked cautiously, an inch at a time, and was confident that
the beginning of his effort to fight back was, up to the present
moment, undiscovered. He believed that he knew about where the
ambushed man was concealed. In the edge of a low-hanging mass of
balsam was a fallen cedar. From behind the butt of that cedar he
was sure the shots had come.
And now, even more cautiously than he had made the tiny opening,
he began to work the muzzle of his rifle through the loophole. As
he did this he was thinking of Black Roger Audemard. And yet,
almost as quickly as suspicion leaped into his mind, he told
himself that the thing was impossible. It could not be Black
Roger, or one of Black Roger's friends, behind the cedar log. The
idea was inconceivable, when he considered how carefully the
secret of his mission had been kept at the Landing. He had not
even said goodby to his best friends.
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