The Eagles Gather Page #3

Continues the story of the Bouchard family begun in "Dynasty of death."

• Fiction

								


"You," he screamed. "Damn it, I'd know the name of that ship in hell. It was your ship. You took my furs."

The little man's trembling hands were thrust out in protest.

"No!" he screamed. "No, no, no!"

Slowly Belton's hand came from his coat. His stubby, grimy fist clutched a long knife. "It was you," he cried. He raised the knife in a shining arc.

Then little Shafer's fear changed to desperation. With a scream he jumped back and clawed at his coat. He was quick now. Fear had maddened him. A mean little pistol appeared in his hand. He fired point-blank at Belton's face.

Belton staggered and fell. His hands came up to a bleeding face that was a face no more. He screamed a wild, bubbly scream. Then he rolled into the fire, screamed again, struggled to his feet, and fell again--and lay still.

"You tricked me, damn you all." Shafer stood above the two seated men and brandished his gun. His eyes were burning now, little close-set pools of mad fire. His shaking hand steadied and lowered the gun toward Duane.

Duane's hand moved like a rattlesnake striking. Two stabs of flame lanced into the night. Shafer stumbled and fell.

Duane turned his attention to Captain. The little man was nursing a broken arm. A gun that had been levelled at Duane was slipping from deadened fingers.

"You fool," he cried. "You killed him. I believed that story. He knew where the uranium was."

Duane shrugged. "He was crazy. A killer. I know your kind, Captain. I knew what you were thinking when he hinted that he knew where a load of uranium was. You were figuring then that only you and Shafer would go away from this fire. You had your gun on me just then, ready to polish me off if Shafer missed."

"Damned blundering idiot," Captain swore. "Oh, I wish I had some of my men here."

"Leave your gun and get out," Duane told him.

"But it's dark. I can't go out there in the dark without a gun."

"Get out!" Duane's words were like icy barbs. "Mornin' will be here soon."

Captain struggled to his feet. He was sobbing with fear and rage and pain. Slowly he moved away from the fire.

"And remember what I said," Duane called after him. "Men will conquer the stars some day--after they have conquered themselves."

Captain's retreating figure faded into the night. The sound of his stumbling footsteps died away.

Duane sat there before the little fire, staring intently into the coals, oblivious of the two fallen figures that lay there in the shadows. At length he arose. In the east a bit of silver was appearing. As he watched, the silver grew brighter; and long spars of purple and rose stretched across the sky.

And as morning dawned the sweeping mists faded and disappeared. The sky was empty--but clear and shining with promise.
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