Keeping well under cover, the boys fired as quickly as they could work their weapons. Wilson felt a stinging snip at his right ear, and a warm stream trickling down his neck. He emptied the first pistol, and began with the second.
“Crash! Crash!” roared the Winchesters.
The attackers held on. They had made half the distance. In spite of themselves, the boys began firing nervously.
Closer the running figures came.
Jack snapped back his reloading mechanism, and pulled the trigger. There was no report.
His cry of consternation was echoed by Alex.
They had fired their last shots!
With a wild shout of triumph two of their assailants were upon them.
From a clear patch of sky bright moonlight flooded the construction-train and the gray slope of the hill to the southeast about which the rails had crept that day. Grouped on the rear steps of the store-car, Superintendent Finnan and several of his foremen sat and smoked, and listened.