He had the same sensation that possessed him when he was crawling to get a pot-shot at a flock of wild geese.  Only this was mightily more exciting.  He did not forget the risk.  He lay flat and crawled little by little.  Every moment he expected to be discovered.  Olsen had evidently called more of his men to his side, for they certainly were shooting diligently.  Kurt heard a continuous return fire from the car he was risking so much to get a shot at.  At length he was within a yard of the end of the car—­as far as he needed to go.  He rested a moment.  He was laboring for breath, sweating freely, on fire with thrills.

His plan was to raise himself on one knee and fire as many double shots as possible.  Presently he lifted his head to locate the car.  It was half in the bright light, half in the shadow, lengthwise toward him, about sixty or seventy yards distant, and full of men.  He dropped his head, tingling all over.  It was a disappointment that the car stood so far away.  With fine shot he could not seriously injure any of the I.W.W. contingent, but he was grimly sure of the fright and hurt he could inflict.  In his quick glance he had seen flashes of their guns, and many red faces, and dark, huddled forms.

Kurt took four shells and set them, end up, on the roof of the car close to him.  Then, cocking the gun, he cautiously raised himself to one knee.  He discharged both barrels at once.  What a boom and what a terrified outburst of yells!  Swiftly he broke the gun, reloaded, fired as before, and then again.  The last two shots were fired at the men piling frantically over the side of the car, yelling with fear.  Kurt had heard the swishing pattering impact of those swarms of small shot.  The I.W.W. gang ran pell-mell down the open track, away from Kurt and toward the light.  As he reloaded the gun he saw men running from all points to join the gang.  With an old blunderbuss of a shot-gun he had routed the I.W.W.  It meant relief to Olsen’s men; but Kurt had yet no satisfaction for the burning of his wheat, for the cruel shock that had killed his father.

“Come on, Olsen!” he yelled, at the top of his lungs.  “They’re a lot of cowards!”

Then in his wild eagerness he leaped off the car.  The long jump landed him jarringly, but he did not fall or lose hold of the gun.  Recovering his balance, he broke into a run.  Kurt was fast on his feet.  Not a young man of his neighborhood nor any of his college-mates could outfoot him in a race.  And then these I.W.W. fellows ran like stiff-legged tramps, long unused to such mode of action.  And some of them were limping as they ran.  Kurt gained upon them.  When he got within range he halted short and freed two barrels.  A howl followed the report.  Some of the fleeing ones fell, but were dragged up and on by companions.  Kurt reloaded and, bounding forward like a deer, yelling for Olsen, he ran until he was within range, then stopped to shoot again.  Thus he continued until the pursued got away from the circle of light.  Kurt saw the gang break up, some running one way and some another.  There were sheds and cars and piles of lumber along the track, affording places to hide.  Kurt was halted by the discovery that he had no more ammunition.  Panting, he stopped short, realizing that he had snapped an empty gun at men either too tired or too furious or too desperate to run any farther.