CHAPTER XXI.
THE CAPTAIN PLAYS A TRICK.
All at once, as they reached a part of the canyon where it narrowed into a mere defile, something came rattling down the side of the steep wall to the right. It was a dislodged pebble, but it caused the advancing corps to look up swiftly.
Above them, outlined against the sky, were several figures,—those undoubtedly of the men of whom they were in search. As they were still looking upward, the men on the cliff summit began to pump down lead, the bullets singing and droning and pattering about them like a leaden hail storm.
“Hot work,” grunted Pete, noting with enthusiasm the absolute collectedness of the leader of the Rangers. He gave a sharp command and his men swung into single file and pulled their ponies over till they were riding so close to the rock wall of the canyon that it was necessary for the riders to throw one leg up on the saddle. This made it impossible for the marksmen on the summit to pick them off, for the cliff hung outward a little.
“As I thought, the rascals were prepared for us,” said the young officer, “how far is it now, Senor Coyote, to the camp?”
“Ten minutes should bring us thar,—ah!”
A big rock hurled from above struck the ground in front of and a little to one side of the advancing cavalcade. It split to pieces from the force of its impact.