Part 6

"Damn you, you've broken my leg!" Rooster cursed, slashed at Peter's rock hand as both slid toward the waiting cliff.

Dropping the rock Peter, too, drew a knife, slashed at Rooster's leg.

A boulder interrupted their slide. They both struggled to their feet.

"I'll see you in hell," Rooster thrust once more with his weapon.

The blade sliced through flesh, hit bone. Peter, wounded in the left side, gasped, staggered backward.

With a grimace his burly assailant suddenly rushed forward, slashing wildly.

Peter, leaping sideward, felt the stones rolling beneath his feet.

Ground gave way, and he screamed. At the same moment he grabbed the Rooster's arm, yanked him forward.

For a moment they staggered on the edge of the precipice.

It ended quickly!

Even as they fought the ground quivered beneath their feet! Then, with a low rumbling, the ledge on which they fought began to slide. White-faced they dropped their weapons, scrambled to reach a firm foothold.

It was to no avail!

Their frightened screams mingled with the growing roar of the falling boulders, lasted only seconds. Demo lay still, unable to rise. The screams had ceased. Now nothing else was heard save the rattle of falling stones. Dust rose from the cliffs edge, quickly blew away by a vagrant breeze.

Demo lay still. It had happened so quickly!

They had stood on the trail, talking, friends it seemed. And in moments they had turned on one another, fought! And now - they were gone.

Dead!

He shuddered.

"Ah, how my heart is beating!" He stood up. "Dead, and in but a few heartbeats of time!" He leaned on his staff, took a deep breath. "And that's what they would have done to me!"

He moved gingerly from his retreat.

He listened carefully.

"There are no more of them . . . ?" He glanced fearfully toward the ravine from which they had emerged.

There was only silence.

Slowly Demo edged up to the brink of the precipice, slowly peered downward.

Nothing could be seen save a few scattered boulders and a few dark patches lying ominously quiet.

He turned now downward, turned his back on the lonely desolation of the higher peaks. His thoughts remained with the scene that had just occurred.

Long he had heard of brigands and outlaws in the high mountains. In appearance these had looked no different than his neighbors in the valley. Yet they had destroyed each other in acts of senseless violence.

"May the Gods keep me! What strange mad creatures we humans are!" he whispered to himself. He paused, leaned against the bole of a tree. He felt nauseated, weak. They were not old, certainly younger than his Mother. And now, snuffed out, gone. He sat down, his back against the tree.

It could have just as easily been me. He took a deep breath. It was me they wanted. And they would have killed me just as quickly. A shiver ran through his body.