There were more yells; the Yaquis outside flung themselves into their saddles and in another moment the two wounded men lying near the windows were all that remained of the attack.
“By golly, I’ve heard of luck before, but this is a case of the pure and unadulterated article,” said Scott, awed.
Hard did not reply. He was taking a deep breath—the first in several minutes. Herrick whistled cheerfully.
“Unless it’s Angel Gonzales,” continued Scott, pensively. “In that case it’s a question of ‘Go it, old woman; go it, b’ar.’”
“Let’s go after the horses and the women,” said Hard. “The quicker we hit the trail for home the better my circulation’s going to be. I think the Hards must have deteriorated considerably since the battle of Lexington. I’m getting to be a regular old woman.”
Scott laughed. “You’re a pretty good pal in a fight, old man,” he said, simply. “I think you winged one of those birds outside. Shall we go and have a look?”
“Not I,” replied Hard, decidedly. “It’s unpleasant enough to me to kill a man without pawing him over afterward.”
Scott went outside and looked over the victims of the fight.
“Dead, both of them,” he said, briefly. “Come on, let’s get out of this before their friends come back.” And to the sounds of yells and shots in the distance they made their way toward the stream.