All that night, the ranch-yard was in a state of real siege. No one slept. They waited and watched, sheltered by the ranch-buildings. The moon was nearly down, and the light growing dimmer. At last it went down, and they had to patrol the fence.
Several times, little parties of the insurrectos rode up, fired through the barb-wire of the stockade, and tried to set buildings on fire. Jack Adeler’s men, loving him and hating the robbers out there beyond the fence, were only too brave, rushing out to return the fire exposing themselves. One was killed, two were wounded. One of the worst of the bunch was Hike, till the Lieutenant threatened to imprison him if he didn’t stay behind cover, firing from there.
“I didn’t bring you down here to play melodrama hero,” he snorted. “Anybody could tell that you’re only a kid from the fool way you expose yourself. I brought you down here to help me run the Hustle, not to make grandstand-plays, and if you don’t stay behind that wall—well, you see what you get. I won’t even let you see the fun!”
Hike had to grin at Jack Adeler’s pretending to be severe; but also he was afraid that the Lieutenant might keep his word, and imprison him in the house. After that, he stayed more under cover.
For two hours, there was a terrible time of waiting—waiting—every moment; peering out into the dark, wondering what the insurrectos were planning; holding themselves ready to drive back an attack. It was the hardest two hours of Hike’s life, so far; to keep himself from sneaking out to the fence and joining the sentries patroling it.
Then came a yell at the fence, and he, with the others, dashed out a little and fired at the riders they could just make out in the before-dawn grayness. Then the ranch-yard was silent as the desert beyond.
With dawn, the insurrectos could be seen making off. This was Hike’s chance to go for gasoline.
He said not a word to the Lieutenant. He was afraid that Adeler would not let him go. So he confided in his special friend and admirer, the man who had seen him give the alarm. Just at sunrise, he sneaked out of the east gate, on a fast pinto, bound for Anarcon and some gasoline for the Hustle.
Before the attack of the insurrectos, he had ridden about the place a good deal, with Jack Adeler, scouting for their enemies; and he knew both the country and his pinto well enough to be able to reach Anarcon. Also, he told himself, he was less needed for the actual defense of the ranch than the others. He could shoot well enough, but he hadn’t the deadly aim of these men who had lived in a country where a quick pull of the gun means life.
He rode northward—straight away from the direction in which the insurrectos had gone; then curved over to eastward, heading for Anarcon.