Bang! Click!--BANG!

Billy had been lying among the thick undergrowth, flat on his back, his
left arm flung above his head, but his right arm was thrust out from
his body under a thick clump of laurel, and his right hand held the gun
ready for any emergency when he inadvertently went to sleep. The gun
was pointed down the Valley along the ground and his fingers wrapped
knowingly, loving around the weapon,--he had so long wanted to own one
of his own. That gun was not included in the blood money and was not to
be returned. It was a perquisite of war.

Billy was all there always, and even awakening suddenly from much
needed sleep he was on the job. One glance at Pat's devilish face and
his fingers automatically pulled the trigger. The report roared out
along the Valley like a volley from a regiment.

Billy hardly felt the rebound of the weapon before he realized that
Patrick was no more between his vision and the sun's last rays. Patrick
was legging it down the Valley with all the strength he had left, and
taking no time to look back. Billy had presence of mind to let off
another volley before he rose to investigate; but there was nothing
left of Pat but a ruffled path in the undergrowth and a waving branch
or two he had turned aside in his going. So that was that! Doggone it,
why did he have to go to sleep? If he had only been ready he could have
managed this affair so much better for his own ends. He wanted a heart
to heart talk with Pat while he had him good and frightened, and now it
was too late. He must get back to the other job. He shinned up a tree
and observed the broad shoulders of Pat wallowing up the bank over by
the railroad. He was going back to the station. It was as well. He
might see him again tomorrow perhaps, for Pat he must have as evidence.
And besides, Pat might read the note and conclude to come back and
answer it.