As though by magic the can flew into the air, flashing in the sunlight. At the same instant they heard the spiteful crack of a rifle.
Scotty reacted instantly, and Rick was only a fraction of a second behind. They dashed across the road and dove for cover in the rocks behind the jeep.
The rifle cracked again. A slug whined into space a few feet from their noses, leaving a silvery streak of lead on a rock.
The boys moved again, closer into the face of the cliff, and took shelter under a slight overhang.
"Now what?" Rick asked.
Scotty surveyed the situation, estimated the line of fire from the lead smear on the rock, then shook his head.
"We can't get in the jeep and make a run for it, because we'd be right in the line of fire. He's on top of the mesa, whoever he is. He can't reach us here, but he can reach us if we move, or if he moves."
The rifle punctuated Scotty's estimate of the situation. This time the slug slapped rock close enough to spatter sandstone chips in their faces.
"We can't stay here," Scotty said grimly. "I'm going to see what I can do."
"How?" Rick demanded.