Page 232

slow timed red hazed dream of death, as on the shot his heart was realistically stopped from pumping. "Well fellows, shall we take bets on how far the thick crust of his blood can crawl over this canyon?" On the glen - with the shot - from the circle could be seen Prankster's frame moving into the trees to the West. Davenport remained in the circle; a singular laughter reeking from him, as if he chose to absorb the poison of the moment and explode it into the extreme color of playact- ing. His hands in the air he claimed, "visitors rights, visitors rights," while a devil smile from the driver- Royce judged the rest as they moved on the literal tip of needle-minds together tightly to the center so that the circle be- came all compact flesh with no judgement of radius, with no line or directions which insured the entrapment of Davenport, while the driver poised himself for a sweeping bow as the police moved in from the mountain toward mutual ob- livion. Prankster went into the woods blinder eyed like a bull at first. Bashing, wheeling, stumbling, spinning out--. But then his timing changed. It was willing. Where to go? Mexico. Yes! Which way? The Pacific Coast Highway? No-way! Down the Valley his mind wandered. Down the Valley he