Short Stories
"I say, you know, I've never done you any wrong, have I?"
the sheriff persisted.
"You do me wrong when you try to put me in prison," was
the reply. "And you do me wrong when you try for the thousand
dollars on my head. If you will live, stay where you are."
"I've got to come across and get you. I'm sorry. But it is my
duty."
"You will die before you get across."
The sheriff was no coward. Yet was he undecided. He gazed
into the gulf on either side and ran his eyes along the knife-edge
he must travel. Then he made up his mind.
"Koolau," he called.
But the thicket remained silent.
"Koolau, don't shoot. I am coming."
The sheriff turned, gave some orders to the police, then start-
ed on his perilous way. He advanced slowly. It was like walking
a tight rope. He had nothing to lean upon but the air. The lava
rock crumbled under his feet, and on either side the dislodged
fragments pitched downward through the depths. The sun
blazed upon him, and his face was wet with sweat. Still he ad-
vanced, until the halfway point was reached.
"Stop!" Koolau commanded from the thicket. "One more step
and I shoot."
The sheriff halted, swaying for balance as he stood poised
above the void. His face was pale, but his eyes were determined.
He licked his dry lips before he spoke.
"Koolau, you won't shoot me. I know you won't."
216