Mountain Storms by Max Brand

the side of his face and a warmth that told him that the skin had been broken by that brutal stroke.
    â€œGet up!” roared the big man, and he kicked Tommy with his heavy boot.
    That wild anger leaped into the heart of the boy again. He came off the ground, how, he could not say, and sprang into the face of the stranger.
    â€œYou little wildcat!” gasped out the big man, and recoiled, although driven more by astonishment than by his hurts.
    That instant of recoil, however, gave another opportunity to Tommy. He leaped to the pile of dried wood that he had heaped along one side of the cave, and a second later the billet cracked heavily along the sconce of the stranger. Again Tommy struck, and again he shouted with a wild satisfaction as he felt the wood bite, soft and heavy into flesh. Then the stick was torn from his hand. He leaped away, and he raced for the entrance to the cave, knowing that now nothing could save him but flight. The big man was not cursing, and his silence meant strangely more than oaths.
    Tommy was almost at the entrance when something told him to dodge. Down he dropped in a heap—and barely in time. The scooping arms of the big man swept over him, brushing his clothes. The toes of the stranger’s boot lodged with sickening force against his ribs. Then the other crashed against the rocks with a shout of pain and rage. But Tommy, rising hastily to his feet again, knew that his finish had come, for now the big man was between him and the mouth of the cave!

C HAPTER F OURTEEN
    T HE W ORK OF M AN
    He slipped back into the very center of the cave where he would have more room. Yet he knew that even there he was playing a losing game. In speed of foot, in endurance, he could not compare with the grown man. Presently he would be cornered, and the great, bone-breaking hands would fall upon him. After that. . . . His horrified mind grew blank. But, having picked up another stick of wood, he waited. He might strike and dodge at the same time and so gain another chance to get at the outlet. But that chance was only one in ten. He glanced longingly up the side of the cave where he had laid away rifle and revolver on a higher shelf. Oh, fool that he had been to put his weapons in a place where they were not instantly accessible!
    The stranger seemed to have the same thought. He had risen slowly from the ground, drawing out his revolver as he did so. But a second of thought seemed to reassure him. He pushed the Colt back into its holster. He began to advance slowly with such a face of fiendish rage that Tommy was paralyzed. No, there would be no dodging now. This cold fury would prove inescapable. He saw a tiny trickle of crimson down the face of the man and into the beard. That red mark would be warrant for his own destruction, beyond a doubt.
    â€œNow,” gasped out the other, “now, we’ll try something!”
    He came with his great arms spread out, moving with long, stealthy strides as though he were stealing up on an unwatchful victim. In that nightmare horror Tommy could not move.
    It was then he saw a dark form emerging out of the spot of black night at the mouth of the cave. With Jack and Jerry crowding behind her, in waddled Madame Bruin with as much assurance as though into her own cave. A shout of joyous welcome, a cry of wildest relief burst from Tommy’s lips.
    That shout made the big man whirl on his heel. One instant he stood petrified with astonishment. Then madame reared up and stood immense on her hind legs, with a roar at this unexpected stranger. Another moment and she would have taken to her heels. But the big man did not wait. He plunged to the side of the fire and snatched up his rifle and pitched the butt into the hollow of his shoulder. It happened all in a twinkling. The gun spoke, and madame pitched heavily forward and died before she struck the ground.
    There was a hoarse shout of exultation from the man. The rifle steadied again, spoke again, and Jack,