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By Forest Gayden

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Randall gripped his gun and crept forward under the palms. His lips twisted grimly. He knew the man he stalked was there just ahead of him.

Gaining the little dune of sand from which sprouted big kopapa bushes, he dropped to his belly and wiggled forward. His blue eyes squinted against the sun-glare from the lagoon. He parted some of the branches that screened him, so that he could see clearly down the other side of the sand mound. There, not fifty feet away stood Strader, looking under a shaded paw out across the glassy water.

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