The four seemed uncertain. Then one of them looked down-hill, the other three followed his gaze, and away they flew above us and round in a circle, not firing now, to where their wounded comrade lay by the rock, and after capturing his horse, one of them, alighting, helped him to the saddle. It is a wonder to me that they did not surmise that our ammunition was done, for they came close enough to carry away the others who had fallen. But they themselves did not fire again. They seemed in haste to be gone, and with another glance round and shaking their fists backwards as they rode, they departed athwart the slope and broke into a jogging lope down Baker shoulder.
Apache Kid had moved away a trifle from the rest of us as we watched this departure, and now he sat grinning at the sheriff who was mopping his brow and head.
"Well, Sheriff," he said. "I hope this convinces you of my innocence."
"What?" asked the sheriff, a little pucker at the eyes.
Apache handed him back the revolver that he had received at the beginning of the fight.
"That!" said he.
The sheriff looked at the chambers which Apache Kid's finger indicated with dignified triumph.
"Two shells that you did n't fire!" said the sheriff. "What does that show?"
"That I had you held up if I had liked—you and your Indian—and I passed the hand, so to speak. My friend and I might leave you now if we so desired. There are other ways through the mountains besides following these gentlemen. We could do pretty well, he and I, I think."
The sheriff smiled grimly.