Sounds were now coming from the building, as though the front door had been flung open and numerous loud conversations were in progress. There were several shouted inquiries. No one seemed to be approaching, however.

He stayed low and moved to the rear of the truck. Glancing behind him, he dropped to all fours, peered beyond the tailgate, looked around the bumper. Nothing. No one in sight...

He listened for a telltale footfall, heard none. He moved around to the rear, crawled toward the left side.

"He'th in front, heading right," came a sharp whisper.

He heard a sound from the front then, a hasty foot on gravel...

He tossed a rock behind him, to the right of the truck. No response. He waited.

Then, "Looks like a stalemate," he called out in foretalk lingo. "Want to discuss it?"

No reply.

"Any special reason for wanting to shoot me?" he tried.

Again, silence.

He rounded the left rear corner of the vehicle and started forward, rising into a low crouch, placing each foot carefully, easing his weight onto it.

"Thtop! He'th backed off into the treeth. Mutht be covering the front."

He transferred the weapon to his left hand and slid his right arm in through the open window. He jerked on the headlight switch and threw himself flat, to peer around the left front tire. A shot from the trees passed through the windshield on the driver's side.

From where he had fallen. Red saw the partial silhouette of the gunman drawing back for cover. He fired at it. The figure jerked and fell heavily against the tree trunk. He fired again as it began to slide downward, a pistol slipping from its fingers. The figure spun backward, struck the ground and lay still.