He flattened himself out, Indian fashion,
and sighted along the barrel. He was positive that his enemy was
watching, yet he could make out nothing that looked like a head
anywhere along the log. At one end was a clump of deeper foliage.
He was sure he saw a sudden slight movement there, and in the
thrill of the moment was tempted to send a bullet into the heart
of it. But he saved his cartridge. He felt the mighty importance
of certainty. If he fired once--and missed--the advantage of his
unsuspected loophole would be gone. It would be transformed into a
deadly menace. Even as it was, if his enemy's next bullet should
enter that way--
He felt the discomfort of the thought, and in spite of himself a
tremor of apprehension ran up his spine. He felt an even greater
desire to wring the neck of the inquisitive little sandpiper. The
creature had circled round squarely in front of him and stood
there tilting its tail and bobbing its head as if its one insane
desire was to look down the length of his rifle barrel. The bird
was giving him away. If the other fellow was only half as clever
as his marksmanship was good--
Suddenly every nerve in Carrigan's body tightened.
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