As he drew in his horse the men behind him
closed up about him. He threw out his arm, pointing.
"Brocky's boys must be right down there," he said sharply. "The Kid
and del Rio will be yonder; those are their horses. Young Page says
there are about fifty of them."
A fusillade of rifle-shots interrupted him. Along a fifty or sixty
yard front the Kid's and del Rio's men had crept in closer to Brocky's
arroyo, worming their way upon their stomachs, and now fired together.
There came a rattling reply from the creek, the shouting of cowboys.
"We'll take those fellows first," ordered Norton quickly. "They will
see us when we climb that little rise. Spread out; go easy until we
get to the top. Then, boys, let's see who can give them hell first and
fastest."
They looked to their rifles for the last time and rode slowly up the
short slope of the low-lying ridge. Then, as the first man topped it,
there came a shout from the shadows in front, another shout, and the
whizzing of rifle-balls. Norton used his spurs then; his big roan
leaped forward and was racing down the farther slope; his men in a long
line rode with him. And as he rode he lifted his own gun and poured
his lead into the thickest of the shadows.
A wild shout of cheering broke from the arroyo; rifle-barrels grew hot
in hot hands.
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