Guns went off thirty feet directly in front of us. Red sand geysered up, granite cracked and splintered. You could feel the awful heat of the blazing exchange of bullets.
I could see faces between the chinks. Malignant faces moving from peep-hole to peep-hole like scavenger birds hopping about in the desert.
I was aiming at one of the peep-holes when Steve groaned and sagged against me. His gun arm sagged, and I could see that a bullet had pierced his shoulder high up.
"I'm sorry, Tom," he whispered, hoarsely. "I was careless, damn it!"
"Never mind, Steve," I said.
"Now they'll close in and get you. Better take my gun. You can use two guns."
"I won't need two guns, Steve," I said. "I'm walking into the open with my hands raised."
"You're crazy!" he breathed, his eyes on my face. "We're outnumbered five to one. They'll drop you the instant you step out from behind this wall."
My gun was hot and smoking. I smiled and tossed it to the sand.