Blaze of Glory
They went up the mountain in the morning, when bright sun sparkled on the dewy spider webs, mist rose from the grass and rested in the hollows. They were three together, barefoot boys, they slipped through the seaside bungalows and white fenced gardens to the wild slopes beyond. There was a rough dirt track halfway, and then a footpath through the rocks and heath, the scent of wild geraniums strong as they brushed by. They had sticks in case of snakes and a bottle of tap water and three oranges, some marbles and a catapult, slingshot to you, made with carefully cut rubber from an old car inner tube. They took turns with the provisions, which they were all going to eat later, but only the two older ones carried the catapult in turn, because Rich couldn’t shoot properly with it, and what good would it do if he had it when they met a leopard, say,in the middle of the path? Of course nobody had actually seen a leopard around here for a couple of hundred years, but you never knew
When they got to the branch in the path after the zig zag climb through the rock bluffs, they turned left along the more used trail.