The lads pushed on while the three miners opened fire. There was but another fifty yards to climb. They could hear the sharp ping of the bullets round them. One of the ponies gave a sudden start, stumbled forward, and then rolled over the edge. In another minute the rest gained the plateau.
"Oh, Dick, it is one of the treasure ponies," Tom exclaimed.
"That is a bad job, Tom; which is it?"
"The gray."
"Better him than the others. It was one of his bags that we took the gold out of to make us up twenty pounds each, so there aint above seventy pounds lost. Come on, let us get beyond range. We don't want to lose any more." When they got two or three hundred yards further the three men ran up.
"One pony has gone, I see," Dave said.
"Yes; it is the gray. He had only seventy pounds, you know, so if one was to go it were best it should be him."
"Well, let us mount and be off, lads; like enough those Indians will have to ride forty or fifty miles to get round this canyon, and come here, but, anyhow, we may as well push on. It is lucky the horses have done well the last day or two, and that we have got our water-skins full."
Chapter XVII.—Conclusion.
Another ten days of arduous toil, and, in turning a sharp corner in a defile, they saw a number of men at work. As these heard the sound of the horses' feet they threw down their picks and shovels, and seized their guns.