Slowly, cautiously he backed away from the door, down the hall and into
the next open door, groping his silent way toward a little half moon in
the shutter. He made a quick calculation, glanced about, did some
sleight of hand with the door till it swung noiselessly shut, and then
slipping back to the window he examined the catches. There was a pane
of glass gone, but it was not in the right place. If he only could
manage to slide the sash down. He turned the catch and applied a
pressure to the upper sash, but like most upper sashes it would not
budge. If he strained harder he might be able to move it but that would
make a noise and spoil his purpose. He looked wildly round the room,
with a feeling that something must help him, and suddenly he discovered
that the upper sash of the other window was pulled all the way down,
and a sweet breath of wild grape blossoms was being wafted to his
heated forehead. With a quick move he placed himself under this window,
which he realized must be almost over Shorty's head. It was but the
work of an instant to grasp Pat's gun and stick its nose well through
the little half moon of an opening in the shutter, pointed straight
over Shorty's head into the woods, and pull the trigger.
The report went rolling, reverberating down the valley from hill to
hill like a whole barrage it seemed to Billy; and perhaps to Shorty
waiting for his pard below, but at any rate before the echoes had
ceased to roll Shorty was no longer on the door step. He had vanished
and was far away, breaking through the underbrush, stumbling, and
cutting himself, getting up to stumble again, he hurled himself away
from that haunted spot. Ghosts were nothing to Shorty. He could match
himself against a spirit any day, but ghosts that could shoot were
another matter, and he made good his going without hesitation or
needless waiting for his partner in crime. He was never quite sure
where that shot came from, whether from high heaven or down beneath the
earth.
As for Link, if he was giving more dope, he did not finish. He dropped
a cup in his hurry and darted like a winged thing to the head of the
stairs, where he took the flight at a slide and disappeared into the
woods without waiting for locks or keys or any such things.
"He seems a little nervous," grinned Billy, who had climbed to the
window seat with one eye applied to the half moon, watching his victims
take their hurried leave. And lest they should dare to watch and return
before he was ready for them he sent another shot into the blue sky,
ricochetting along the hills; and still another, grimly, after an
interval.