that had startled it. Again the rifle clicked.

“Did you get him?” Paula queried, without opening her eyes.

“Yea, and a fat one,” Dick answered. “I stopped a line of generations right there.”

An hour passed. The afternoon sun beat down but was not uncomfortable in the shade. A gentle breeze fanned the young grain into lazy wavelets at times, and stirred the redwood boughs above them. Dick added a third squirrel to the score. Paula’s book lay beside her, but she had not offered to read.

“Anything the matter?” he finally nerved himself to ask.

“No; headache — a beastly little neuralgic hurt across the eyes, that’s all.”