The prospect was not a hopeful one, yet Hollis could not have admitted to feeling any alarm. He realized that had the man intended any immediate harm he would have shot him down long before this--while he had sat motionless in the saddle inspecting the place. Concerning the man's intentions he could only speculate, but assuredly they were not peaceful. For a little time the man remained motionless and Hollis sat quiet, looking at him. The weapon had not moved; its muzzle still menaced him and he watched it closely, wondering whether the man would give him any warning when about to pull the trigger. Many minutes dragged and the man did not move. A slow anger began to steal over Hollis; the man's inaction grated on his nerves. "Well!" he challenged sharply. "What do you want?" There was no answer. Hollis could see only the man's head and shoulders projecting above the boulder, and the rifle--steady and level--menacing him. With an exclamation of rage and disdain he seized the bridle rein and pulled sharply on it, swinging the pony's head around. The rifle crashed venomously; Hollis felt the right sleeve of his shirt flutter, and he pulled the pony abruptly up. "Just to show you!" came the man's voice, mockingly. "If you move again until I give the word you won't know where you've been hit!" Hollis was satisfied--the man undoubtedly meant business. He settled back into the saddle and looked down at his shirt sleeve. The bullet had passed very close to the arm. If the man had meant the bullet for that particular spot he was a deadly marksman. In the face of such marvelous shooting Hollis did not care to experiment further. But his anger had not yet abated. "No doubt you are enjoying yourself!" he said with bitter sarcasm. "But the pleasure is all yours. I am not enjoying myself a bit, I assure you. And I don't like the idea of being a target for you to shoot at!" A laugh came back to Hollis--a strange, unnatural, sardonic cackle that, in spite of his self-control, caused his flesh to creep. And then the man's voice: "No, you don't like it. I knew that all along. But you're going to stay here for seven weeks while I shoot holes in you!" He laughed again, his voice high and shrill, its cackling cadences filling the place. "Seven weeks in Devil's Hollow!" came the voice again. "Seven weeks! Seven weeks!" Hollis felt his heart thumping heavily against his ribs, while a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach told him that his courage was touched. He realized now why the man had not shot him down immediately. He was a maniac!