"Bushwhack 'em?" said McHale. "No, I reckon not. We want to keep out of trouble. If we held 'em up what'd we do with them? We couldn't tie 'em and leave 'em; and we couldn't pack 'em around. Nothing for it but to run like men. The country's big enough for both of us."
Sandy grunted disapproval, but said no more. Personally he would have welcomed a fight. He was a marvellously quick and accurate shot with either rifle or revolver, and he was ready to make a friend's quarrel his own. However, he deferred to McHale's views.
Farther down the Klimminchuck they turned up a nameless tributary creek, following its course with difficulty, for the way was choked with down timber and slides, until they reached a beautiful little basin high up above the valley. There the creek had its source or sources; for the drainings of the basin were collected in a little lake lying beneath bare cliffs. The water was swarming with trout, so that one supply of food was assured.
Beside the lake and the cliffs they made camp. They could not see the valley, neither could they be seen thence; but by walking half a mile they could look down into it. Sandy, mindful of his disappointment, began to prospect for bear.
McHale relapsed once more into a morass of sleep and tobacco. But while Sandy was ranging afield he lay on the edge of the basin drowsing and watching the valley, for he did not intend to be taken by surprise.
But that was exactly what happened. He had withdrawn from his post of observation earlier than usual, and he and Sandy were smoking after supper in the fading light, when a little cavalcade rode into the basin, preceded by one who walked slowly, studying the ground.
McHale saw them at the same moment that they perceived the camp. He leaped to his feet with an oath, snatching up his rifle and a gunny sack, which, among other things, contained their cartridges. His belt gun he never laid aside.
Sandy also jumped for his gun, slamming the lever down and up as the weapon came to his shoulder. He stood fairly in the open, covering the foremost man. But McHale caught his arm.
"Come on and get back among them rocks," he cried. "We can't stand 'em off here."
Behind them as they ran a sudden yell went up, and a single bullet buzzed past like a mad bee. But they reached the shelter of the rocks fallen from the cliff at some remote period, and dropped to cover. Before them the great slabs formed a natural breastwork; behind them rose the sheer cliff, gray and weather-stained. Their backs were amply protected; in front they must take care of themselves.