'There now. There now,' Orval told it, gently stroking its back as he squinted through his glasses at the two dead dogs along the edge of the cliff. 'We'll get even, don't you worry. If he's still alive down there, we'll get even.' He shifted his squint toward Teasle, and his voice went louder. 'You just couldn't wait for the goddamn state police to take over, could you?'
The men looked at Teasle for an answer. He moved his mouth, but no words came out.
'What's that?' Orval said. 'Jesus, if you've got something to say, then say it clear like a man.'
'I said nobody forced you to come. You've had a hell of a good time showing us what a tough old shit you are, running ahead of everybody, quick climbing up that break in the cliff to move the boulder and prove how smart you are. It's your own fault the dogs were hit. You know so much, you should have kept them back from the edge.'
Orval shook with anger, and Teasle wished he had not said that. He stared down at the ground. It was not right of him to mock Orval's need to outdo everyone. He had been grateful enough when Orval realized how to free the boulder, climbing up to tie one end of a rope around it, telling the others to haul on the other end of the rope while he used a thick bough to lever at the boulder. It had come hurtling over the top in a rumble and crash and splintering of rock that they had all just managed to stumble back from. 'All right, listen, Orval,' he said, calm now. 'I'm sorry. They were fine dogs. Believe me, I'm sorry.'
There was a sudden movement next to him. Shingleton was sighting his rifle, firing down at a clump of brush.
'Shingleton, I told you to stop!'
'I saw something move.'
'Two days' pay that cost you, Shingleton. Your wife's going to be mad like hell.'
'But I saw something move I tell you.'
'Don't tell me what you think you saw. You're shooting excited like you wanted to back at the station when the kid broke out. Just listen. That goes for all of you. Listen. You hit nowhere close to that kid. The time you took returning his fire, he could have crapped and buried it and still got away.'
'Come on, Will, two days' pay?' Shingleton said. 'You can't mean that.'
'I'm not finished. All of you, look at all the shells you wasted. Half your ammunition's gone.'
They scanned the empty cartridges lying all around them in the dirt, looking surprised at how many there were.
'What'll you do when you run into him again? Use up the rest of your shells and then throw rocks at him?'
'The state police can fly us more,' Lester said.
'And won't you feel great when they come in here, laughing at how you wasted all your shells.'
He pointed once more at the empty cartridges, and for the first time he noticed that one group of shells was very different from the rest. The men had to lower their eyes in embarrassment as he scooped up the shells. 'These aren't even fired. One of you dummies pumped out all his bullets without even pulling the trigger.'
It was obvious to him what had happened. Buck fever. The first day of hunting season a man could get so excited when he saw his target that he stupidly pumped out all his shells without first pulling the trigger, completely mystified why he wasn't hitting what he was aiming at. Teasle couldn't let it pass, he had to make an issue of it. 'Come on, who did it? Who's the baby? Give me your gun, I'll give you one that shoots caps.'
The number on the cartridges was.300. He was about to check whose rifle was that caliber when he saw Orval point toward the edge of the cliff - and then he heard the whimper. Not all the dogs the kid had shot were dead. One had been shocked unconscious by the force of the bullet, was now coming to, kicking, whimpering.
'Gutshot,' Orval said disgustedly. He spat and stroked the dog he had been holding and gave its leash to Lester next to him. 'Hang on tight,' he said. 'You see how she's quivering. She smells that other dog's blood, and she's liable to go crazy.' He spat again and stood, dust and sweat mixed on the green of his clothes.
'Wait now,' Lester said. 'You mean this one might get vicious?'
'Maybe. I doubt it. Most likely she'll try to break free and run off. Just hold tight.'
'I don't like this one bit.'
'Nobody asked you to like it.'
He left Lester holding the leash and walked over to the wounded dog. It was on its side, kicking its legs, trying to roll over and stand, always sinking back on its side, whining miserably.
'Sure,' Orval said. 'Gut shot. That bastard gutshot her.'
He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and squinted over at the dog that was untouched. It was tugging on its leash to get away from Lester.
'Mind you hang on tight to that one,' Orval told him. 'I have something to do that'll make her jump.'
