“You, Olaf, and Oscar go around the rock to the left,” sez I; “and Tank, Spider, and I’ll go around to the right. Each fire only once, and then run around the rock again and make for the path leadin’ down into the ravine. Keep close together all the way.”
“The ravine!” exclaimed Spider.
“Sure,” sez I.
“All right,” sez Spider, draggin’ out the “all” until it would do for “I told ya so,” in case we got pocketed.
It worked fine; we flew around, surprised ’em, shot a volley into ’em, made ’em seek cover, and then we flew for the head o’ the path. Ol’ Tank, with his damaged prop, was as nimble as a one-legged Norman hoss, and Horace was loaded down with elephant ammunition; so that it was wise to have all the time we could get. Ty and five others jumped up from our look-out, and tried to head us off; but they had to go twice as far as we did. Ty and two others had rifles, and they stopped and took shots at us, but nothin’ came of it.
“Hurry on to the ranch buildin’s,” I called as we went down the path. Then I turned back, to see what they were doin’.
“Let me take a shot at ’em,” sez Horace’s voice at my elbow.
“Why didn’t you go on with the rest?” sez I. “I can give you half way and beat you runnin’.”
“Let me take just one shot,” sez Horace, so I gave in and let him. Two fellers were runnin’ at a long angle toward the mouth o’ the ravine to head us off, and get a shot from above; so I told him to try for one o’ them. He fiddled with his hind sight as calm as though shootin’ for a Christmas turkey, and hanged if he didn’t topple one over. The other stopped, and then ran back with his head ducked low to the ground, while the wounded one crawled behind a rock.
“Now dust for the buildin’s,” sez I; “and don’t try any more nonsense. Let me carry the weapon, and you won’t be so overloaded. I’ll start after you in a jiffy.”