THE SUPERB MOMENT
kettle on the ground. He got to his feet in time to see the boy dive into the underbrush like a fox, Bert Ferrier at the edge of it like a hound off the scent, hanging back, whimpering, "Stop him, stop him!"
Shouting to Ferrier, to Esmeralda Charley to beat the bush, Carron ran up the trail. It swung far to the right, then as far to the left, and the first sharp turn commanded the sweep of underwood to the river. From here he looked down the sea of dull green, saw the half-breed floundering in the bristling stuff, saw Ferrier running along the edge of it, his rifle still in his hand. He was frantically waving the other arm, and seemed in terror, a divided terror, half lest their prey escape, and half lest it spring unexpectedly upon him out of the scrub. But out of it came only a few birds, rising on wings to their air trails. All else was motionless.
Suddenly Esmeralda Charley yelled, and pointed up, far up at some point over Carron's shoulder. The watcher looked behind him.
Perhaps a rod higher on the slope a quivering was perceptible in the underbrush as if some animal was traveling swiftly toward the hills. He stared, too confounded to realize what it was, or what had happened.
Ferrier came up the trail panting, "It's no use! It's no use! You'll never catch him from here!"
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