There was an instant when they lay flat paralyzed, the sun glaring on them, no wind, nothing. The instant stretched on and on. Then in a scramble Shingleton aimed down at the forest, shooting along its edge. He had four shots off when another man joined him, and then another, and then except for Teasle and Orval, everyone was laying down a heavy line of fire, the gun reports rattling off together, as if a bandoleer of ammunition had been thrown into a furnace and the heated cartridges were exploding in a steady roll.

'That's enough,' Teasle ordered.

But nobody obeyed. They were spread flat along the ridge, behind rocks and mounds of earth, shooting as fast as their rifles would allow. Crack, crack, crack, their trigger hands in constant motion, ejecting old shells, chambering fresh ones, not really aiming as they yanked off their bullets, the recoils jolting them. Crack, crack, crack. And Teasle was sprawled in a furrow of rock, shouting, 'That's enough I told you! Stop I said!'

But they kept right on, strafing the line of trees and scrub, homing in where another's bullet had churned the leaves and made it seem that someone was there moving.

A few were reloading and starting again. Most had already done so. Rifles of different make: Winchester, Springfield, Remington, Martin, Savage. Different calibers: .270,.300,.30-06,.30-30. Bolts and levers and different-sized magazines holding six rounds or seven or nine, empty cartridges strewn around and more coming all the time. Orval was holding steady his one last dog, shouting 'Stop it!' And Teasle was rising from the furrow, crouching as if to pounce, the veins in his neck bulging as he yelled, 'Dammit, stop I said! The next man pulls a trigger loses two days' pay!'

That struck them. Some had not yet reloaded the second time. The rest somehow checked themselves, tense, rifles at their shoulders, fingers poised over triggers, eager to resume. Then a cloud shut out the sun and they were all right. They sucked in air and swallowed and lowered their rifles sluggishly.

A breeze came up, gently brushing the dry leaves in the forest up behind them. 'Christ,' Shingleton said. His cheeks were pale and taut like the skin on a drum.

Ward relaxed off his elbows onto his stomach and licked at the corners of his mouth. 'Christ is right,' he said.

'Never so scared,' somebody was mumbling over and over. Teasle looked and it was the young deputy.

'What's that smell?' Lester said.

'Never so scared.'

'Him. It's coming from him.'

'My pants. I —'

'Leave him alone,' Teasle said.

The cloud that had shut out the sun passed smoothly on, and the bright glare retouched him, and glancing over at where the sun was low in the valley, Teasle watched another cloud approaching, a bigger one, and behind it, not far off, the sky was rumpled with them, black and puffy. He unstuck his sweaty shirt from his chest and then leaving it alone because it stuck right back to his skin, he hoped it might rain. At least that would cool things off.

Next to him he heard Lester talking about the young deputy: 'I know he can't help it, but Christ what a smell.'

'Never so scared.'

'Leave him alone,' Teasle said, looking at the clouds.

'Any bets we hit that kid just now?' Mitch said.

'Anybody hurt? Everybody O. K.?' Ward said.

'Yeah sure,' Lester said. 'Everybody's fine.'

Teasle looked sharply at him. 'Guess again. There's only nine of us. Jeremy went over the side.'

'And three of my dogs went over with him. And two others are shot,' Orval said. His voice was all in one tone, like from a machine, and the strangeness of it made everybody turn to him. 'Five. Five of them gone.' His face was the gray of powdered cement.

'Orval. I'm sorry,' Teasle said.

'You damn well should be. This was your damn foolish idea in the first place. You just couldn't wait and let the state police take over.'

The last dog was trembling on its haunches, whining.

'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.