"Come mornin'," Sandy replied, "when I can see my sights, I'll clean the whole bunch out."
"Other people can see sights then. Kid, they got me rounded up. I ain't no good except on a horse. If I could make a get-away I would. But I can't. You can. There's no sense in both of us bein' wiped out. Also, there's your folks. I ain't got any. And, then, I've lived longer than you, and I've had a heap more fun. I'm plumb satisfied with the deal. If I quit the game now I break better'n even. Shake hands and git out o' here while you can."
"Forget it!" snapped Sandy. "Would you quit me? Not any. D'ye think I could look Casey in the face, or Sheila, or my old dad? Would one of them quit you? You bet they wouldn't. I'll see this through. Here, gimme what rifle cartridges you got, and shut up that line of talk. I won't stand for it, and I won't go."
"'Most every family has one blame fool in it," said McHale. "All right, durn you, stay. If I could chase you out I'd do it. Reach down and pull my belt gun for me. I can shoot left-handed some."
They passed the night miserably, waiting for an attack which did not come. The pain of their wounds was added to the discomfort of the cold. Dawn found them shivering, numbed, weary-eyed, staring through the lifting gloom, their weapons ready. As the light grew they could see their own camp, but no one occupied it. Farther off a column of smoke rose.
"Cookin' breakfast down in a hole," said McHale. "Playin' it plumb safe. They ain't takin' a chance on your shootin'."
"They'd better not," said Sandy. His young face showed grimed and pinched in the growing light, but his eyes were hard and clear. "Do you s'pose I could sneak over and get a stand on them?"
"I wouldn't try. You bet somebody's keeping cases on these rocks."
Half an hour passed, an hour. The sun struck the basin, mottling its green with gold, striking their chilled bodies with grateful warmth.
"Say," asked Sandy, "don't you want a drink of water?"