Gerry spread himself beside his friend. The pile, woefully small even for one, was the only cover available.
Husky and Rogers, who were nearer the camp, made a bolt and reached it safely.
"Good for them," Sudden commented. "But now we'll have all the attention." Four bullets which ploughed through the gravel in front of them endorsed his remark. Gerry wriggled and cursed. "Yu hit?" Sudden asked anxiously.
"Stone cut my cheek," was the reply. "It's like bein' peppered with a scatter-gun." He pushed up a rampart of gravel, only to have it dispersed by another volley. "May the bones rot in their bodies," he added viciously, as he spat out a mouthful of grit.
They had been firing at intervals, largely to relieve their feelings, for they had nbthing to aim at save the rocks which sheltered the marksmen.
"I never thought the day would come when I'd want to see Angel-face," Sudden said whimsically.
"Lesurge is the jigger I'd admire to get a bead on," Gerry replied. "If he shows hisself, don't yu trouble to fire." But their wishes were to go unsatisfied. Instead, they got a perfect hail of bullets and before it their flimsy defence rapidly disintegrated. It became obvious that, in a few moments, their position would be untenable; both were cut and bruised by flying pebbles, and several times, each had escaped death by a bare inch.
"They're turnin' the damn place into a lead-mine," Sudden remarked. "We gotta run for it. Get ready." They waited until a lull in the fusillade suggested that the snipers might be reloading, and Sudden gave the word. Leaping to their feet, they raced for shelter, zigzagging as they went. Shots zipped past them, flinging up the dust on every side, but they reached the rest of the band unscathed. Both were winded, for it was uphill, and the loose sand and gravel made speed an achievement; also, their high-heeled cowboy boots were not built for sprinting. Sudden's first question was addressed to Husky:
"Hurt much?"
"Flesh wound--nothin' bruk--smarts a few," the miner grinned. "There's on'y four shootin'; where's the other two?"
"Watchin' Snowy an' the women, I'd say," the puncher surmised. "An' I'm bettin' Lesurge is one of 'em; he ain't the sort to risk his hide."
"Yu'd shorely win," Rogers chimed in. "What's the next move, Jim?"
"We'll clear out an' get the hosses."
"An' let 'em grab the mine?" Humit asked disappointedly.
"We can get it back when we want," Sudden argued. "One good shot up on the slope can make this place impossible; with the rest of us workin' this end, we'd have 'em comin' an' goin'."
"She's a good scheme," Rogers agreed. "If they'd thought o' that, we'd be out on a limb right now." Taking only their weapons and a small supply of food, they set out for the spot where they had hidden the horses. This was a good half-mile distant, and to the east, where the enemy would be unlikely to chance upon them, for to be set afoot in the Black Hills would have been a calamity.
* * The ignominious retreat of the cowboys had evoked derision among the sharp-shooters, mingled with disgust at their own failure to bowl over at least one of them.
"See 'em run," Lem called to Fagan, who was about a dozen yards distant. "Skippin' like a couple o' jack-rabbits." He waited a while, balanced his hat on the barrel of his gun, and raised it cautiously above the boulder behind which he was crouching. Nothing happened, and after another wait, he rose slowly to his full height. The expected shot did not come; the hollow was clearly deserted.
"They've pulled their freight," he announced.
One by one the other marksmen emerged from their shelters and joined him.
"What's to do now?" Berg asked.
"Git our tools an' collar the mine. What d'you s'pose?"
"They may come back."
"Then we'll stand 'em off," Fagan retorted. "But I figure it this way; they must 'a' cleaned up a lot o' dust while we was foolin' in that damned ravine and they're content to get away with that--playin' safe, like. If it ain't so, why let us in an' have all the trouble o' drivin' us out again?" The others agreed that his reasoning was sound, and they all slithered along the slope until they reached the spot where Paul, Snowy, and the girl were waiting, the latter two with their wrists bound. Their gaoler, pacing restlessly back and fore, was silent, but there was a look in his dark eyes which filled her with fear. The men appeared, and Fagan made his report.
"You are probably right but Lem had better make sure," Paul decided.
The scout reached the camp almost as soon as they. He was jubilant.
"They've flew the coop, shore enough," he said. "An' they went in a hurry--left their tools an' some grub behind. The hosses ain't there neither."
"Good, that'll save us totin' a lot o' truck up there," Fagan chuckled. "C'mon, boys, let's git agoin'." Lesurge stepped forward. "Wait a moment, Fagan; I think I command here." The man turned; whether by accident or design, his rifle was pointed at the speaker. His mouth was twisted in an insolent sneer.
"Best think again," he said. "This is where you fade out o' the picture. You've hazed us long enough, an' we've put up with it 'cause we knowed this moment would come. Yeah, I was yore dawg, to pat or kick, as you pleased, a damn fool you could use, but I had this planned when I come to Wayside an' you've been workin' for me, Paul Lesurge. Savvy?" For a moment, Lesurge did not; the unexpectedness of the event dazed him. He was the master, and the possibility of a mutiny had never occurred to his autocratic mind. Fagan, a mere animal . Gradually the realization of his position seeped into his bewildered brain. He was helpless; if he attempted to punish the traitor, the others would kill him. He had been mad indeed to put himself at the mercy of these scoundrels. No wonder they had shown no sign of gratitude when he promised them Hank's share. He smothered his rising rage and steeled himself to speak calmly:
"Fagan, we have been friends a long time, and I have always trusted you and your companions
"To do yore dirty work," Lem interjected.
"For which I paid well," Paul replied. "After the coach affair, for example, I handed Fagan a considerable sum to be divided amongst you." It was a complete fabrication, designed to sow dissension, but it brought black looks for the new leader from the other three.
"That's an infernal lie," Fagan cried. "You never gave me a cent--said you were broke." Paul shrugged. "I can't prove it, of course," he admitted. "But have you thought of this? If Green and his gang have worked the mine out, you get nothing, for you lose the amount I promised to pay in any case."
"Hell, we're takin' the chance," Fagan answered. He knew the persuasive power of Paul's tongue, and trusted his cronies not at all. "If the mine's as good as Snowy made out, them hombres can't 'a' more'n scratched it."
"The old fool was apt to exaggerate," Lesurge argued. "Look here, boys; I'm prepared to share equally--cut it up five ways."
"Now ain't that generous?" Fagan sneered. "But you was allus great at givin' away what warn't your'n, Paul. Now I'll make you a present--the gal. I had notions 'bout her myself once, but she's too milk an' water, an' she'd on'y be a burden." He backed towards his pony, finger on trigger, and, settled in the saddle, uttered a final jeer: "I've got yore rifle, Paul, case you should be searchin' for it. Give my respec's to yore wife--she's more of a man than you'll ever be. Adios, an'--damn you." With mocking salutations they rode off, leaving one whom fury had bereft of reason. In the very instant of victory he had not only lost all but had been outplayed and derided by one he had always despised--a "blunt instrument." He, Paul Lesurge, the polished, clever man of the great world, defeated by--Fagan! More than the loss of the gold, that thought maddened him, and for a space he gave rein to a blind rage. With upraised clenched fists and body shaking with the violence of his passion, he cursed the men who had bested him. And then he stopped suddenly, his wild gaze on the Rocking Stone.