A rifle-shot broke from across the river. Dakota Fraley raised himself with a spasmodic jerk, a look of shocked incredulity on his swarthy face, and fell full length out on the ledge. His limbs scarcely twitched as he lay. Cockney smiled weakly.
Alkali and Dude could be heard seeking cover from the newer peril. Again and again the rifle-shots came from the unseen marksman. Bits of rock flew about the two cowboys. Stamford rose in his excitement and waved his hat. He could see bullet after bullet flash a white sideways mark on the face of the cliff, and the chips rise lower down where the bullet had bent its course. At the fifth shot Alkali cried out. Richochet shooting was an art even he, notorious gunman as he was, had never learned.
The firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The Dude remained. Suddenly above them a stern command rasped down. Two Mounted Policemen leaned over the edge of the cliff, their rifles covering Dude.
The cowboy stepped out, his arms up. The battle on the ledge above the Red Deer was ended.
Stamford and Isabel ran to Cockney. He was lying at full length, his left arm crumpled under him. The bandage on his head had slipped. He looked up in Stamford's face and smiled.
"My guest—to the last—anyway, Stamford. I'm going to—beat you—away—from the H-Lazy Z."
Isabel whispered to one of the Mounted Police, who dashed up to his horse and rode away.
"No—don't touch me. Let me lie—awhile. Where's the Professor?"
An exclamation from Sergeant Prior drew their eyes to the opposite shore. The Professor had jumped into the river—he could not wait to go round by the ford. They watched, Stamford satisfied that what the powerful fellow had done once he could repeat, Isabel alarmed, Sergeant Prior frankly sceptical.
They did their best for Cockney where he lay, but there was so little to be done. When they attempted to lift him, he swooned, and they left him at last and waited—waited.