"That wasn't what I meant. Look after yourself. Don't get hurt."
"Are you trying to tell me to play it safe?" Turkey demanded with virtuous indignation. "Why I ought to report you to Bush. Look after yourself. You're married. Play it safe! Huh! You bet I will—with a fast gun."
But the sun was going down. Unless the fugitives suspected something they would soon be making camp. Now and then Bush stopped to listen. None now spoke above a whisper. It was like the last hundred yards of a long, hard stalk of big game. In this case the game was big enough, and dangerous. Mistakes could not be afforded.
Bush stopped suddenly. Distinct in the stillness came the quick "lick-lock" of an ax. The deputy nodded.
They came upon the camp. It was on a little flat at the mouth of a wild draw, a little glade fringed with brush, through which ran a trickle of a spring creek. At one side the horses, unsaddled, grazed. Gavin, at the other side, was dragging in a dry pole for firewood. Gerald knelt beside a freshly kindled fire. Larry was getting food from a sack.
It was Larry who saw them almost at the instant they saw him. He cried a warning. Gerald rose swiftly. Gavin dropped his pole. Bush stepped forward and held up his hand.
"I want you boys," he said.
"You can't have us," Gerald replied. "That's cold, Bush."
"Don't be foolish," Bush advised. "I want you, and I'm going to get you. And that's cold, too."
"Then fly at it!" Gerald cried, and with the words jerked his gun and fired.