"Think of how good the sun'll feel. Maybe something will happen to warm us up before then."
A forty-pound stone suddenly crashed down to one side of them, smashing in the rocks and bushes with terrific impact. Sandy leaped to his feet, his revolver streaming continuous fire at the top of the cliff.
"Git down, you durn fool!" cried McHale.
Sandy dropped just in time. A volley came from in front, and a leaden storm howled overhead.
"Talk about luck!" said McHale. "Don't you take a chance like that again." He rolled over on his back and put his rifle to his shoulder. "If I could only git that cuss up there against the sky line——"
But the top of the cliff was fringed with bushes. Another stone bounded down, struck a projection, leaped out, and hit ten feet in front of them. McHale fired by guess; but, like most guesswork shooting, without result. Another stone struck in front. He moved in closer to the cliff and chuckled grimly.
"We're right under a ledge. Them rocks all bounced off it. Mighty lucky for us. You feelin' any warmer now?"
"You bet. Summer done come again. I wish I could see to shoot." He fired at the flash of a gun, and winced suddenly.
"Burned me that time!"
A glancing bullet had ripped the flesh of his left side along the ribs. McHale made a bandage of the handkerchief he wore around his neck.