Tad's arrow had sped home. Its blunt end had been driven with powerful force, straight against the left ear of Ab Durkin, having been deflected slightly from where Tad had intended to plant it.
"Lie low!" commanded the boy.
The next instant, a shower of revolver shots flattened themselves against the rocks all about the boys.
"Give them a volley and drop back quickly!" ordered Tad.
Three bows twanged, and yells of rage told the boys that at least some of their missiles had gone home. This was a different sort of warfare from anything to which these mountaineers had been accustomed, and, somehow, it had begun to get on their nerves, desperate men though they were.
"Follow me. We must change our positions again. They've got our range now," directed Tad, and the boys, wriggling along on their stomachs, to the left, dutifully followed their leader.
Tad was heading for a clump of sage brush, so that their operations might be the better masked. While he was doing so, the mountaineers, who also had taken to cover, were bombarding the rocks from which the Pony Riders had just made their escape.
From their new position the boys were overjoyed to find that their enemies were in plain view.
"Take careful aim, and when I count three, let go at them. See that not one of you misses," directed the leader.
"Ready, now! One, two, three!"