shifted his rifle about

  Something passed swiftly across the sights. He opened both eyes and raised his head. Tressa Torrance was climbing fearlessly out on the trestle supports to her father's assistance, calling for help.   Koppy gasped. A veil seemed to fall over his eyes. A drop of sweat fell to his rifle butt. When he could see once more he slowly drew back the gun, eyes staring. Slowly he turned to the expectant faces below him. They knew nothing of what had happened--was happening--out there on the trestle. But they felt in some vague way that he was failing them.   With deliberation Koppy shifted his rifle about, reversing it. Wonder began to dawn on the faces at the foot of the tree, but not a sound came from them. Coolly and firmly the butt slid out along the branch where the barrel had been.   He felt steadier now--no nerves--no fears. With unhurried care he caught the trigger over a twig and let it rest there. His head turned slowly about in a half circle, not toward the crowd below but out over the green forest and up into the brightening sky. Then he leaned out and peered at the shack. Moving back in the arc, his eyes rested on Tressa supporting her father's head, though a false step meant certain death.   And Ignace Koppowski smiled--a cleaner, more human smile than had crossed his face for many a year.   "Good girl!" he shouted. "I'll help. Listen."   With the smile still on his lips he jerked the barrel of the rifle toward him.   With the explosion came another from across the grade. And before the first echo two others from the forest behind.

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