“One of us?” flared Bud. He gazed hard at Norton, with suspicion and belligerence in his glance. Norton flushed at the look. “I reckon we’ll both be in at the finish,” added Bud.
“Only one,” declared Taylor. “We might hold a dozen men off here for a good many hours. But if they were wise and patient they’d get us. One man will light out for Kelso Basin to get the outfit. Settle it between you, but be quick about it!”
Taylor swung down from his horse, led the animal out of sight behind a jutting crag into a sort of pocket in the side of the gorge, where there would be no danger of the magnificent beast being struck by a bullet. Taylor pulled his rifle from its saddle-sheath, examined the mechanism, looked at his pistols, and then returned to where Bud Hemmingway and Neil Norton sat on their horses.
Bud’s face was flushed and Norton was grinning. And at just the instant Taylor came in sight of them Norton was saying:
“Well, if you insist, I suppose I shall have to go to Kelso. There isn’t time to argue.”
Norton wheeled his horse, and, with a quick grin at Taylor, sent the animal clattering down the gorge.
Bud’s grin at Taylor was pregnant with guilt.
“Norton didn’t want me to stay. There’s lots of stubborn cusses in the world—now, ain’t they?”
Taylor’s answering smile showed that he understood.
“Get King back here with Spotted Tail, Bud!” he directed. “And take that pile of rocks for cover. They’re coming!”