man to man stuff, and he chuckled as he remembered the two minute
figures that he had seen come out of the forest in the fading light of
the previous evening.
The bastard spent the night down there in the clearing. Saw him light a
match and have hisself a smoke in the night - well, I hope he enjoyed
it, his last.
Wally peered anxiously out into the gradually gathering dawn.
They'll be moving now, coming up the clearing. Must get them before they
reach the trees again. Below him the clearing showed as a paleness, a
leprous blotch, on the dark forest.
The bastard! Without preliminaries Hendry's hatred returned to him. This
time he don't get to make no fancy speeches - This time he don't get no
chance to be hoity-toity.
The light was stronger now. He could see the clumps of ivory palms
against the pale brown grass of the clearing.
'Ha!' Hendry exclaimed.
There they were, like two little ants, dark specks moving up the middle
of the clearing. The tip of Hendry's tongue slipped out between his lips
and he flattened down behind his rifle.
Man, I've waited for this. Six months now I've thought about this, and
when it's finished I'll go down and take his ears. He slipped the safety
catch; it made a satisfying mechanical click.
Nigger's leading, that's Curry behind him. Have to wait they turn, don't
want the nigger to get it first. Curry first, then the nigger.
He picked them up in his sights, breathing quicker now, the thrill of it
so intense that he had to swallow and it caught in his throat like dry
bread.
A raindrop hit the back of his neck. It startled him. He looked up
quickly at the sky and saw it coming.
'Goddam it,' he groaned, and looked back at the clearing.
Curry and nigger were standing together, a single dark blob in the
half-light. There was no chance of separating them.
The rain fell faster, and suddenly Hendry was overwhelmed by the old
familiar feeling of inferiority; of knowing that everything, even the
elements, conspired against him; the knowledge that he could never win,
not even this once.
They, God and the rest of the world.
The ones who had given him a drunk for a father.
A squalid cottage for a home and a mother with cancer of the throat.
The ones who had sent him to reform school, had fired him from two dozen
jobs, had pushed him, laughed at him, gaoled him twice - They, all of
them (and Bruce Curry who was their figurehead), they were going
to win again. Not even this once, not even ever.
'Goddarn it,' he cursed in hopeless, wordless anger against them all.
'Goddam it, goddam it to hell,' and he fired at the dark blob in his
sights.
As he ran Bruce looked across a hundred yards of open ground to the edge
of the forest.
He felt the wind of the next bullet as it cracked past him.
