“Then it had been the Berber who had been below, trying to reach up to the murette, and whom I had pounded into a bloody and battered pulp with bullets. It appeared that the tables were turned. I did not seem to fear the awful pain of the knife thrust half so much as the fall. Three hundred feet is a long way down. The white kepis below me looked like dimes. To do it I had to let go with both hands. I jerked down a foot, dangling over space. Then I had the hillman’s knife wrist in my hand. He tr...ied to shake me without pulling back. He was wise, that one. He knew what I intended to do. He must have felt himself slipping too close to the edge. Pebbles were showering down all around me. He jerked back and suddenly I was on hard earth. I rolled over, taking him with me. Behind him burnooses swirled. I would have to act fast. Planting both my feet in his belly, I shoved up and back. He catapulted headfirst over the edge, screaming, through emptiness. A rifle spat beside my face. I snatched the barrel and twisted it away.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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