"Drew!" A figure blundered into him from behind, almost sending him to the ground again. "Get down, you fool!" Hands clutched at his body, trying to pull him earthward.[pg 200]
"Let me go! Shiloh—"
"Get down!" Anse's whole weight struck him, and he fell, the Texan sprawling with him. It was only then that he heard the spatter of rifle fire and understood that they were in the middle of an exchange of lead slugs.
"Keep down!" Anse, his voice ragged with anger, snapped the command in Drew's ear. "What in thunder you tryin' to do? You gone completely loco, amigo? Walkin' right out to git yourself shot like them bullets was nothin' but pecans or somethin' like!"
For the first time Drew realized what he had done—blown Rennie's carefully planned trap sky-high. His shot at the Pinto must have been warning enough for the fugitives. But why were they trying to make a fight of it now, when to cut and run would have been the smartest move? Unless, having seen only one man, they believed he was alone. He tried to rub the dust from his eyes and think coherently. But all that was in the forefront of his mind was that last sight of Shiloh following the Pinto to battle.
"All right." Drew shifted in Anse's hold. "It's all right."
Not that it was, but at least that was the best way he could express his return to reason. And the Texan appeared to understand, for his grip loosened.
The dust which had blown up an opaque curtain dropped as quickly. They lay together on the far side of the ridge, but the space below was empty. They saw no men, no battling horses—nothing.
"They've hightailed it," someone called from the crest of the ridge.
"I tell you ... I got one of 'em.... He's over between those two bushes. He'd pulled up to take up th' fella runnin'[pg 201] an' went out of th' saddle. Other man got his hoss an' lit out."