g him. In the broad
stand of granite at the summit the rains had worn a basin, shallow, ample
to recline in, even for a man of Roger's stature. Here Malachi laid him
down, first drawing the gun-sling gently off his shoulders. Roger said
nothing, but lay and gasped, staring up into the blue sky.

Malachi examined the two guns, looked to their locks, and, fishing in his
pockets, drew forth a powder-horn and a bag of bullets. These he laid
with the guns on the granite ledge before him, and, crawling forward on
his stomach, peered over.

The cloud had drifted by. It was as he expected--the soldiers were
climbing the slope. For almost half an hour he kept his position, and
behind him Roger muttered on, staring up at the sky. Amid the mutterings
from time to time the old man heard a curse. They sank at length to a
mumble, senseless, rambling on and on, without intelligible words.

Malachi put a hand out for a gun, raised himself deliberately on his
elbow, and fired. He did not look to see if his shot had told, but turned
at once and, in the act of fitting the cloth to his ramrod, looked
anxiously at his master. Even the mumbling had now ceased, but still
Roger gazed fixedly up into the sky and panted. He had not heeded the
report.

Malachi reloaded carefully, stretched out his hand upon the second gun,
and fired again. This time he watched his shot, and noted that it had
found its man. He turned to his master with a smile, reaching out his
hand for the reloaded gun, picked it up, laid it down again, and felt in
his pocket.

"No good wasting time," he muttered.

He drew forth pipe and tinder-box, hunted out the last few crumbs of
tobacco at the bottom of his pocket, and lit up, still keeping his eyes on
Roger as he smoked.

A voice challenged far down the slope. He crawled to his master's side.

"There's one thing we two never could abide, master dear, could we? and
that was folks interruptin'."

He took up the reloaded gun again, fired his last shot, and sat puffing.

Minutes passed, and then once more a voice challenged angrily from the
foot of the tor. Malachi leaned across, closed the eyes that still stared
up implacably, and arose, knocking out the ashes of his pipe against his
boot-heel.

"Right you are!" he sang down bravely. "There be two men up here, and one
was a good man; but he's dead, and the law that killed 'en takes naught
from me but a few poor years that be worthless without 'en.