Stamford peered over the rock at Cockney—he could not help it. But Cockney was almost past surprise. Dakota and his comrades were shouting to each other excitedly. Isabel was laughing at Stamford from the corner of her eye. She nodded to his unspoken query.
But between them and the help in sight an impassable canyon ran.
The Professor, with the roar of the cattle and the river in his ears, had heard nothing. He would pass them by without a suspicion that within rifle range his sister and friends were in direst peril. Stamford and Isabel shouted, but no noise they could make would carry against the clamour closing the Professor in. Isabel fired into the air until the automatic was empty. It was useless.
Stamford darted to Bean's lifeless body. Leaning the rifle on the rock he took as careful aim as he knew how at the running cattle, but missed. He repeated the failure. Then, reckless of exposure, he carried the rifle to Cockney. Lifting the heavy man to his side, he thrust the rifle before him and held it against the rock. Cockney's face twisted in pain, but he placed his eye to the stock, held his breath, and pulled the trigger.
A steer leaped, stumbled, and those behind trod over it. A second time a steer fell. Cockney sank back. He could stand it no longer.
As the first steer went down, the Professor pulled up sharply. He had not heard the shot, but he recognised the results. The next shot he heard. And then a third snapped from the rock where Dakota lay, and Gee-Gee sank to his side.
Dakota sent a piercing whistle over the river, and the two great dogs came slinking to the edge of the cliff and lay looking over.
Dakota jeered aloud.
"Them was two fine pups the Inspector got for us, Alkali. I'll borrow dogs like them any time they come to the West. I need 'em in my biz."
"Hurrah for Dakota Fraley an' his glad eye!" shouted Alkali. "Dakota, boy, you're a devil with dogs an' skirts."