"You're overshootin'," said McHale. "You can't draw the foresight fine enough in this light. Hold lower."
"Nothing to hold on," grumbled McCrae. "They're cached close. If one of them would only come out to fetch in that dead one I wouldn't do a thing to him."
McHale eyed him speculatively. "Seems like your young soul ain't swamped by no wave of remorse at killin' a man. Don't make you feel shaky nor nothin'?"
Young McCrae smiled grimly. "Not that I can notice. All that lead they slung at us scared remorse clean out of my system. I'm lookin' for a chance to repeat."
But darkness settled down without that chance, making accurate shooting impossible. Objects at fifty yards became indistinct. Only the smoky-red reflection of the sunset remained.
"Think they've got enough?" asked Sandy.
"Why, they ain't got started yet. Lucky we had our supper. We can stand quite a racket on a full stomach. Might as well smoke, I reckon."
Sandy shivered slightly as the chill of the mountain night air struck through his thin clothing. "Wish I'd grabbed a blanket or a coat."
"It'll be a heap worse before mornin'," said McHale.
"You're a cheerful devil!"