Another one threw up his hands with a low groan of pain, and would have fallen from his horse if his leader had not been prompt in putting out a strong hand, and steadying him in the saddle.
“Wounded?”
“Yes, Harry, I’m afraid it’s about all day with me,” gasped the man. “And I’m hit in the back. I never wanted to get my last dose there.”
“Cheer up,” said Harry. “It may not be so bad.”
But even as he spoke, the form he was supporting grew limp and nerveless, and fell sideways from the saddle, while the steed dashed steadily onward.
“Poor Bates,” said Harry. “Here’s to avenge the poor fellow.”
Two long range navy revolvers were taken from his holsters, and turning slightly in his saddle he extended his arms in the direction of his foes.
Crack, crack, went the revolvers, and at that instant a little volley was sent in by the pursuers.
The revolver in the right hand of the spirited leader was torn from his hand by a flying bullet.
Another bullet struck his horse in the off hind quarter.