hing but poison," said Warner. "We must remove him as
speedily as possible for the sake of the universe. Come on! I mean to
lead."

He emerged from the clump and took his way toward the second cluster,
digging a heavy hunting knife into the ice whenever he felt that he was
about to slip. Reed was just behind him, breathing hard from the climb,
and then came the whole detachment. Warner felt a momentary shiver lest
the guerrilla see them. If he caught them on the steep ice between the
two cedar clumps he could decimate them with ease.

But fortune was kind and they breathed mighty sighs of relief as they
drew into the second network of silver, where they lay close watching for
Slade, who had fired three times into the valley while they were on the
way.

He had gone farther down the ridge, but they saw him partially as he
kneeled for another shot. If he moved again in the same direction after
firing they would not be able to reach him, and Warner, Reed agreeing
with him, decided that they must make the attempt to remove him now or
never. It was a hard target, not much of Slade's body showing, but the
entire party took aim and fired together at the leader's word.

Slade threw up his arms, fell back on their side of the mountain and
then slid down the slippery slope. Warner watched him with a kind of
horrified fascination as he shot over the clear ice. His body struck
a small pine presently and shattered it, the broken pieces of the icy
sheath flying in the air like crystals. After a momentary pause from the
resistance Slade went on, slid over a shelf, and disappeared in a deep
drift.

"He's out o' business," said Reed. "I reckon we'd better go down thar,
an' see ef he's all broke to pieces."

They climbed down slowly and painfully, reaching the drift, but to their
amazement Slade was not there. They found his rifle and spots of blood,
but the outlaw was gone, a thin red trail that led down a rift showing
the way he went.

"We hit our b'ar an' took the bite out uv him," said Reed philosophically,
"but we ain't got his hide to show. Still he's all broke up, jest the
same, 'cause he didn't even think to take his gun, an' this red trail
shows that we won't be bothered by him ag'in fur a long time."

Warner would have preferred the annihilation or capture of Slade, whom he
truly called a rattlesnake or cobra, but he was satisfied, nevertheless.
He had destroyed the guerrilla's power to harm for a long tim