The Chink was able to whistle ’em to the cook-house; but that was as far as they’d go; and while they were standin’ in a bunch, Horace and Slim each got one. Ty was standin’ near one o’ the poles which upheld the back porch, and Horace exploded a slab from this pole in such a way that it knocked Ty down. This put the whole bunch into a consternation. Horace certainly could shoot some. It made me think o’ the poorhouse, when I reflected on what it had cost him to learn how.
Nothin’ much happened that day. Horace and Slim stuck to their knittin’, and the Simpson boys played their part well. They rode in a bunch, and when they’d come in sight o’ the ranch house, one would hold the field-glass case to his eyes, as though lookin’ through the field glasses, and another would turn and wave his hands, as though signallin’ to some one up in the hills. Once, two punchers went to the corral and saddled hosses; but Horace shot one o’ the hosses, and both men flew for the stable without waitin’ to take off the saddles. They had never seen such wounds as Horace’s elephant gun created, and it put ’em in a mighty thoughtful mood.
The Simpson boys came in soon after dark; and we all held a council of war while eatin’ supper. I was purty certain that we had a better bunch o’ men than those we were fightin’. It is no test of nerve to kill a man: a lot o’ men who got the reputation o’ bein’ bad were nothin’ but accidents or sneaks; but when you have to stick through a slow fight without knowin’ the odds again’ ya, it gives your nerve a mighty searchin’ try-out. I had hopes that after a day or so, they’d be certain that the hills on all sides of ’em were full of enemies, and they’d be mighty glad to settle on our terms. I didn’t want to kill a single man more ’n was necessary. Horace also thought we could wear out their nerve; but Olaf shook his head.
“Some o’ the punchers may desert in the night,” sez he; “but as long as a single one remains to stand back to back with Ty Jones, Ty Jones’ll stay and fight. He has no fear—I have seen.”
“The question is this,” sez I, “if those fellers are the kind to get fiercer the longer they’re kept in suspense, the thing to do is to raid ’em to-night; but, on the other hand, if they’re the kind whose nerve evaporates when it is kept uncovered, the thing to do is to wear ’em down. Let’s vote on it.”
We decided to do some more wearin’; so we kept a guard at the camp, and the rest of us went down to the cliff, and tossed over stones to where we thought they’d be hid, providin’ they had put guards at the mouth of the ravine. We raised a yelp the first throw, and heard a rush o’ men from the new cabin, though the shadow was so dense down below we couldn’t see a thing. This showed us that some o’ the dogs still survived and were bein’ used as guards, and also that there were men quartered in the woman’s cabin. This was a bother, as it would force us to be careful until we found out where she was livin’.
We posted a guard at the top of the path leadin’ up from the ravine, another at our camp, and went to sleep, feelin’ purty tol’able well fixed. Nothin’ happened that night, and the next day, we made ready to do about the same as we had done the day before; but when we reached the cliff, the’ wasn’t a sign o’ life below—not a single, breathin’ thing in sight, not even a hoss in the pasture.
“They’ve got away!” exclaimed Horace.
“Where to?” sez Olaf. “Ty Jones hasn’t any more use for the law ’n we have, and you’ll never make me believe ’at he’s pulled out and left all his belongin’s for whoever wants ’em.”
“That’s so,” sez I; “but where the deuce are they?”