"Now, for a surprise."
The second stone flew with better speed, carrying away the fellow's
hat without hitting his head.
"Hey, you, stop that!" roared the fellow.
From behind the bushes all was quiet. The camp prowler stood
up straight, staring to see whence the next stone would come.
After nearly two minutes he bent to pick up the case of biscuit
that he had dropped.
Smack! Even as his nearer hand touched the box a sharp stone
struck the back of that hand, cutting a gash and causing the blood
to spurt.
"I'll have your scalp for that!" howled the enraged man. Making
a pretty good guess at the direction from which the stone had
come, the fellow started toward the brush on a run.
"Here's where you get all of yours!" chuckled Harry Hazelton.
Still crouching he let three stones fly one after the other.
The first struck the prowler in the mouth, the second on the
end of the nose and the third over the pit of his stomach.
"You two-legged Gatling gun!" howled the fellow, shaking with
rage and pain.
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