“Cover that hole, Crawling Bear!” roared Wild Bill. “They’re after me, the whole five of ’em. Look alive, now.”
The Ponca was quick-witted, and must have realized the situation. His head vanished from the patch of light the instant Wild Bill ceased speaking.
Climbing hand over hand was slow work. Wild Bill’s arms were strong, and he did his best, but his best did not carry him upward nearly so swiftly as he could have wished.
Sounds of scrambling feet came from below him, followed by the voice of Tex.
“Thar he is! See him squirm, will ye? Pepper him! Turn loose at him!”
Just then the hole above suddenly darkened. Wild Bill was still a target, but not so plain.
The shaft echoed with a patter of reports. A sharp, stinging blow struck the heel of Wild Bill’s boot, the broad brim of his hat shook, and he was raked along one side as by a red-hot iron.
“Wow!” he muttered; “if they put a piece of lead into one of my arms——”
And just then that is exactly what they did. It was Wild Bill’s left arm. The strength went out of the arm in a flash, and Wild Bill only saved himself from dropping back to the bottom of the shaft by a fierce grip on the rope with his right hand.
How could he climb now? The outlook was anything but reassuring.