Every TIME reporter expects to encounter unexpected hazards in line of duty. But few of them have a story to match the recent experience of TIME'S part-time correspondent Bob Collins, a reporter on the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

The story began on a Friday afternoon when Reporter Collins returned to his office and found a TIME query asking him to attend a press conference held by a visiting president of a large company. The conference had ended two hours earlier, and Collins was unable to find anyone to brief him sufficiently on what happened at the conference. He decided to put in a telephone call to the president of the company the next day. Says Collins:

THE day started by my agreeing to baby-sit with our younger daughter Barbara, who is four years old. This was a bad mistake. My wife operates our apartment on an open-door policy. That is, she always keeps both doors unlocked, a big jar of candy on the television set, a bag of apples by the refrigerator, ice cream and soda pop in the refrigerator, and a box of cookies on the kitchen table. It's understandable that our place is a favorite hangout for the neighborhood kids. And there are lots of them. Sometimes they come in platoons. It isn't uncommon to see ten of them sprawled out in front of the television set watching six-shooters roar as badmen bite the dust. This is especially true on Saturday mornings.

On this particular morning, I put Barbara out into the wide open spaces of our big backyard and called the president's office. He was busy. Among other things, 18,000 of his workers were on the eve of a strike. After three more calls, I was told to call again in five minutes. To get everything just right for the interview, I went upstairs to a bedroom and closed the door. The lock on the door is broken, but I clicked the door shut with my foot, picked up the bedside phone. With pencil and pad in hand I put in the call.

It came through. A secretary said: "The president will talk to you now." I had just introduced myself when I heard a wild scream as the back door slammed. A second later some little cowboy came pounding up the stairs as fast as his short legs would carry him. With a sinking feeling, I realized that the chase was on. I clamped my hand over the phone to keep out the noise, and braced for the onslaught. I knew what was coming because I had been through this before. I stuck out a leg to bar the door and nearly lost the leg as a tough-looking hombre about five years old opened the door with a lunge and stood panting, his six-shooter drawn for battle. I jerked my hand off the mouthpiece, asked the president another question, then hissed at the cowboy to get out. He eyed me coldly, and without a word raised his pistol and shot me right between the eyes. Then he crawled under the bed as the vigilantes came whooping up the stairs.

I still had my hand firmly over the mouthpiece. "You kids get out of here!" I shouted. "Now about the total volume of sales, sir?" I asked the president, as I quickly lifted and replaced my hand over the mouthpiece, hoping that he didn't hear the din of battle in the background. By this time, the kids were not only in the room, they were running between my legs and Barbara was climbing my back to get on my shoulders. I dropped the notebook as I tried to pry her loose.

The president was still talking, and I began taking notes again. Then I noticed that one of the posse had grabbed a victim by the boot and was hauling him out from under the bed. Paying me no attention, the vigilantes did their man in with no mercy at all. He was riddled with at least a hundred bullets to the tune of "bang . . . bang . . . bang ... I gotcha ... I gotcha ..." I thought the cowboy had been finished off, but he staggered to his feet, jerked loose and dashed for the stairs and freedom in the backyard. The chase was on again -- this time outside.

In the silence that followed, Collins got the rest of the necessary information, concluded his interview and put the facts on the wire to New York. He has covered a lot of important stories under pressure, says Collins, but never before had he been so badly shaken on any assignment.

Cordially yours,

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