Bill himself had not been discovered. He crept farther back and over to the right. Things were going nicely. Saxton and Cesar had a good chance if they did not show themselves too clearly, and all he had to do now was to get that gunner.
He took to his hands and knees and had topped a little rise that he thought would give him command of the machine gun position, when far to the right in the rear of the gun he saw another man creeping along. He raised his rifle and was about to fire, but then the man raised his head, and from the cap he wore Bill could see that it was Saxton.
He stood up and waved his hat at Saxton, so that the latter might not make the same mistake that he had almost made—fire on a friend. Saxton waved back, and hastened toward him.
The two of them crept back of a screen of rocks, and to their delight saw the hunched figure of the machine gunner back of the bowlder in front of them.
“We’ll fire together,” Bill suggested. “This is too easy. Then we’ll never know which bullet killed him.”
They fired. The man at the gun slumped forward. They waited a moment, but he did not move again.
“Well, that’s that,” said Bill. “I think we’ve won the field.”
He had hardly finished the sentence when a bullet spatted against a rock back of them, and another kicked up the dust at their feet. Both men threw themselves flat on the ground.
“I guess I spoke too soon,” said Bill. “I toppled a fellow a few minutes ago. He was running back up the trail, and I think I got him in the leg. He must have beat it back to some retreat for a rifle, and this is the result. Don’t show yourself, Saxton. We’ll outwait him.”
They lay there on their stomachs back of the bowlder, their rifles ready for the first sign of the remaining bandit.