The great wall curved slightly outward now and he hugged it closely as he groped onward, and soon emerged from its shadow to become silhouetted against the fire below. And then a spurt of flame split the darkness above him and a shriek passed over his head and died out below as the roar of the heavy rifle awoke crashing echoes in the canyon.
Below him lurid jets of fire split the darkness and singing lead winged through the air with venomous whines, which arose to a high pitch as they passed him and died out in the sky. He knew that his friends were firing well away from the wall, but he cursed them for the mistakes they might make. Another flash blazed above him, and the sound of the lead and the roar of the gun told him that his enemy was now using a Colt. Ordinarily this would have given him a certain amount of satisfaction, for everyone knows that while a rifle is effective at such a range, a hit with a revolver is largely a matter of luck; but as he leaped back into a handy recess a second bullet from the Colt struck the generous slack of his trousers and burned a welt on that portion of his anatomy where sitting in a saddle would irritate the most. It was a lucky shot, but Holbrook was too much of a pessimist at that moment to derive any satisfaction from the knowledge.
"I'm in a h—l of a pickle!" he growled as the shadows of the recess folded about him. "I can't go up, an' I can't go down—I can't even sit down. I got to wait till that fire dies out—an' suppose they don't let it die? Five minutes more an' I would have won out."
"Hey, Frank! Are you all right?" asked a voice.
"That's Fleming, th' fool," growled Holbrook. "I suppose he wants me to step out on th' edge of the platform an' speak a piece for him."
A laugh rang out at the head of the trail. "Answer th' gentleman," said Johnny in a low voice, fully appreciating Holbrook's feelings. "Don't it beat all how some folks allus pick th' wrong time in their yearnin' for conversation? I've been there; more'n once. You promise to go down an' give him a lickin' an' I won't pull a trigger on you while yo're on th' trail!"
"Hey, Frank! Oh, Frank!" persisted Fleming.
"Tell him to shut up," chuckled Johnny. "Here, I'll do it for you: Hello!" he shouted. "Hello, you loquacious fool! Frank says for you to shut up!"
Fleming's retort was unkind.
"Frank says he ain't smelled no skunk since he left th' canyon!" jeered Johnny. "Don't you get up-wind of me!"