"Better git out of here," he said, and was turning to scuttle away when a rifle opened up down the creek. It was shooting fast and almost rhythmically, and another lighter gun joined in; then there was a tattoo of answering shots, trailing off into silence as the fighters emptied their magazines.
"What's that?" asked Hall, and Meshackatee shook his head—he was watching the rocky hill. Something moved among the boulders, his rifle roared out again; and as a tall Texan broke to run they both opened fire. He dropped his gun and ran on.
"They're all going!" exclaimed Hall, turning to shoot into the creek-bed; and now there was no answer as with harrying shots they followed the flight of the bush-whackers. Whoever they were they were fleeing in a panic—the battle had been won, but by whom?
"I CLAIM RED"
They waited, these two men who had dared invade the Scarborough stronghold and, daring, had almost paid the price, and Meshackatee raised a hail.
"Wa-a—hooo!" he called, and as his big voice woke the echoes there was an answering yell from below. A man, invisible as a spotted fawn when it walks in the shadow of leaves, came rustling up the canyon, and at last he spoke from the hill.