Then he too, began to throw,
gradually drawing nearer and nearer to his adversary.
A small stone caught Phil a glancing blow on the left shoulder
causing him to drop his ammunition. He could scarcely repress a
cry, for the blow hurt him terribly. He wondered if his shoulder
had not been broken, but fortunately he had received only a
severe bruise.
It served, however, to stir Phil to renewed activity.
Grabbing all the stones he could gather in one sweep of his
hands he started on a run toward Red Larry, letting one drive
with every jump. They showered around the desperate man like a
rain of hail.
All at once Larry uttered a yell of pain and anger. One of
Phil's missiles had landed in the pit of the fellow's stomach.
Larry doubled up like a jacknife, and, dropping suddenly, rolled
rapidly toward the foot of the slope.
Phil, still clinging to his weapons, ran as fast as his slender
legs would carry him in pursuit of his man.
"I hit him! I hit him!" he yelled.
In a moment he came up with Larry, but the lad prudently stopped
a rod from his adversary to make sure that the fellow was not
playing him a trick. One glance sufficed to tell Phil that the
man had really been hit.
Pages:
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221