"Give 'em hot cakes!" was the emphatic retort of the old puncher and prospector. "If I kin spot that Zeke, I'd git him, an' wipe out a ole score!"
So the siege began, and hours passed without any change worth while taking place. Frequently either Jerry or Zander would amuse themselves by a few old tricks known to pioneers and Indians alike in the days when caravans used to trek across the plains.
Both of their hats were perforated several times by well-aimed shots, and it was lucky that their heads did not happen to be in the coverings at the time, but only the sticks the two punchers used to raise the hats into the range of vision of their enemies.
The boys were worried to figure just how they could give their enemies the slip, having suggested, and thrown aside, a number of plans, when something entirely unexpected came about to lend them a helping hand.
"Well, well, well!" Zander was heard to say, with both wonder are glee in his voice. "Say, boys, what d'you think? We've got allies up yonder on the mountain side. Saw a puff of smoke, and, will you believe me? that skunk of a Nash Yesson jumped out from behind a rock where he'd been hiding and shooting this way. He's whooping things up and tumbling all over himself, like he'd been wounded some."
Lanky, already peering out from his cover, gave a wild yell.
"They've had enough already, are getting away in a big hurry, carrying Nash along like a log. Guess he got his finish that time, for both arms are dragging on the ground."
"But who can it be willing to give us the glad hand?" Paul asked, rather bewildered, knowing that in all probability, besides themselves are the Yesson crowd, there was not a single human being in that section of the country.
It was speedy Lanky who again made an important discovery.