Stamford took a chance. He looked out to the east. The cowboys were coming on the run, darting from cover to cover. At the end of the ledge they separated, some slinking over the edge to work up behind.
"I knew you killed Kid Loveridge at Dunmore Junction that day," Dakota went on, "just 'cause he shot a slinking Policeman who'd 'a' got us shore if he hadn't. I've always held one bullet for you ever since. If you'd told the Police you'd 'a' got it sooner. You didn't know I fired the other bullet that got the Corporal. I only wish I'd been nearer to help the Kid. You was too quick on the draw for him."
Cockney was stiffly trying to drag himself to cover, his eyes darting about for a place to make a last stand.
"Stamford," he called, "can you get her to one of those fissures—the one my right foot's pointing at? I can protect you from here, I think."
Stamford examined the crevice.
"It's too far," he said. "We're not badly off here."
Cockney's revolver spat, and Muck Norsley flopped from the edge of the cliff and lay half in the open. Two others bolted across and sank out of sight. Cockney fired again but missed. Two of their enemies were now at their backs.
Stamford moved round Isabel and watched behind. A rifle barrel came slowly into sight and dropped until it almost covered them—then the peak of a Stetson. He raised himself to protect the girl at his side.
"Isabel," he whispered, "it looks as if it's about time to say something—to tell you that—I love you. If you can say anything that'll make me go with a smile—quick!"
His eye was on the rifle. He hated the thought of being shot in the back. But the rifle lifted unexpectedly to the sky, and Bean Slade reared his bony shoulders into view.