]
Davis he shot, and saw him sway and fall flat, with a smoking gun in
his hand. Another crumpled forward; and Shorty, just getting painfully
upon his feet, he sent into the sand again to stay; for his skill with
small arms was something uncanny to witness, and his temper was up and
turning him into a savage like the rest.
But the range was rapidly growing to rifle-length, and death fell
short of his enemies after Shorty went down. When he saw his fourth
bullet kick up a harmless little geyser of sand two rods in advance of
the agitated crowd, he left off and turned to his friend.
"I thought you were drunk," he observed inanely, as is common to men
who have just come through situations for which no words have been
coined.
"You ain't the only one who made that mistake," Dade retorted grimly,
and looked back. "Good thing those hombres are afoot. We'll get on a
little farther and then we'll fix a hackamore so you can do your own
riding,"
"I can't stand it to ride any farther--"
"Are you shot?" Dade pulled in a little and looked anxiously into his
face.
"It's the rope. They tied it so tight it's torture. I'd never have
believed it could hurt so--but they gave me an extra twist or two to
show their friendship, I reckon."
Dade rode on beyond a little, wooded knoll before he stopped, lest
the crowd, seeing them halt, might think it worth while to follow them
afoot.
"They surely didn't intend you to fall off," he said whimsically, when
his knife released the strain.
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