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Gribardsun walked out from behind the tree he had been using as a spy post and slogged through the
snow toward the fight. A few seconds later he dived into the snow. A bullet had screamed by his head.
He did not cry out to Drummond that he had made a mistake. Drummond must have recognized him;
the fact that he was carrying a rifle was enough to identify him. It was possible that Drummond was in a
near mindless frenzy and was shooting at anything that moved. That often happened to men without
experience when they were first in battle. However, he did not think that this was the situation.
Drummond had certainly been cool and deliberate enough about firing at the natives with his revolver.
Gribardsun began to work his way to the left toward a stand of snow-laden trees part way up the hill.
But the natives had seen him, and five of them were coming through the snow toward him. They were
yelling and brandishing their spears in their gloved hands. They certainly made excellent targets for
Silverstein, but he did not fire at them. It was then that Gribardsun decided that Silverstein had shot at
him knowing who he was. Now Silverstein was hoping that the natives would do what he had failed to
do.
Gribardsun, still lying in the snow, raised his rifle, which was set for single-shot action, and fired over
the heads of the men advancing upon him. He did not think that would stop them, but he would make the
effort. After that, if they continued, they deserved what they got.
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They kept advancing, though they sank into the snow to their knees.
Gribardsun fired with about twelve seconds between each shot. He wanted the survivors to
appreciate the fact that no shot was now missing and that he was taking his time. But three fell before the
two remaining decided to make off. They slogged away at right angles to their former path, determined to
get away from both riflemen.
By then Silverstein had hit two more men in the snow, and the rest had decided that it would be best
to retreat.
Gribardsun had quit firing, but Silverstein knocked over every man who stood up.
The total was fourteen dead. Somewhere nearby was a tribe which had lost much of its adult male
population.
Gribardsun thought that Silverstein had truly gone insane.
By then he was behind a tree. He adjusted the bullhorn amplifier around his neck and roared, 'Throw
your gun out, and come out with your hands up!'
'So you can shoot me down in cold blood!' Drummond's amplifier thundered back.
'You know I wouldn't do that!' Gribardsun said. 'You're a sick man, Drummond! You need medical
care! That's all I'm concerned about! I want you to get well so you can do your work! We need you!
And you need us!'
'I don't need you or anybody! I'm just going to keep on moving until I can go no more! And then I'll
die!'
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Gribardsun was silent for a while. The snow had ceased falling, and the grayness overhead was
breaking up. Several times in the next ten minutes the sun shone through momentary brighter patches. It
fell on the dark bodies scattered around the open arena. From downwind came the faraway cry of
wolves. These may have smelled the blood and might be on their way to the promised feast. If so, they
would be late, because six ravens had just flown in and alighted near a body. But there was enough to
feed a hundred ravens.
The big black birds cautiously approached the body and then, deciding that it was not playing
possum, tore at it. The eyes disappeared down black throats; the lips were pecked and stripped away;
the tongue began to shred away in sharp beaks.
Gribardsun watched the eating indifferently. If anything, he approved. Ravens were one method for
getting rid of garbage, of keeping the world clean.
But Silverstein could not stand the sight. He fired, and a raven flew apart in a spray of black feathers.
The others took off cawing and flew around describing black interrogation marks. When they fluttered
back to the original corpse, they were scared away by another shot. This missed them but struck the
head of the corpse and split it open. The ravens returned a second time and began to eat the blood and
the brains. Silverstein did not shoot at them again.
Gribardsun stuck his head completely around the tree trunk, only to jerk it back. He was too late, of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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