A shrub moved to the right, moved against the breeze. Sheridan's muscles tightened. A face was indistinct through the leaves. Sheridan made no sound. The face came near and the leaves moved with greater violence. Down the hill Jose's ranting voice went on, monotony itself.<BR><BR>One of the Portuguese soldiers jumped erect in front of Sheridan. The man was not relying upon a mere rifle; he had a two-foot bolo held aloft, ready for the downswing. The keen edge sang through the air. Sheridan's head was against the trunk, directly in the blade's path. His rifle leaped to one side and spat flame. The blade buried itself in the palm and stayed there. The soldier toppled backward, clawing at nothing. The bullet had jackknifed him. He rolled for minutes before he brought up against the cemetery wall close to Jose.---L. Ron Hubbard<BR><BR>"L. Ron Hubbard had an enormous impact on popular fiction in the golden age."---Tim Powers<BR><BR>"He was a master of pulp fiction. ... He was in every one of the genres that defined American literature of the 20th century."---Robert J. Sawyer