"Hurry up," it called. "It's right there beside you."
Leff threw down his sewing and leaped to his feet. Leaning against the
bank behind him was his gun, newly cleaned and primed.
"Get it yourself and be d--d to you!" he roared.
The machinery of action stopped as though by the breaking of a spring.
Their watches ticked off a few seconds of mind paralysis in which there
was no expectancy or motive power, all action inhibited. Sight was all
they used for those seconds. Leff spoke first, the only one among them
whose thinking process had not been snapped:
"If you keep on shouting for me to do your errands, I'll show you"--he
snatched up the gun and brought it to his shoulder with a lightning
movement--"I'll send you where you can't order me round--you and this
d--d ------ here."
The inhibition was lifted and the three men rushed toward him. Daddy
John struck up the gun barrel with a tent pole. The charge passed over
David's head, spat in the water beyond, the report crackling sharp in the
narrow ravine. David staggered, the projection of smoke reaching out
toward him, his hands raised to ward it off, not knowing whether he was
hurt or not.
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