This firing had brought Sandy and Max to the door of the mine with anxious faces, and you may believe they were not only enraged, but made very solicitous by the incident.
“It’s clear,” remarked Max, “that they mean to kill us if they can do so without open-handed murder. Of course they intended those balls to glance and hurt somebody.”
“I meant mine to, anyhow!” exclaimed Morris.
“I am glad you fired; it’ll teach those scoundrels that we are wide-awake. But do you not think they knew you!”
“No, they couldn’t see well enough. I was kneeling behind the wall.”
“There is a’ the mair necessity, Mr. Bushwick,” remarked Sandy, “why you should go to town to-night.”
“I feel it strongly, and Morris and I’ll get away as soon as it is dark. You fellows have worked enough to-day, haven’t you? Suppose you stay out now.”
“All right; we will. We’ve got a fair sort of a hole in there, anyhow. It’s pretty deep, and a man can walk upright all the way except in one or two places.”
They saw no more of the enemy that day, however, and Sandy occupied himself by cooking an extra good supper.
By seven o’clock that evening a deep gloom filled the gulch, and was scarcely less heavy on the cliffs, for thick clouds stretched like a canopy from peak to peak.