The utter surprise of it and the terrifying effect of those two shots from unseen marksmen did the trick. The mountaineers were a bit too far from the shelter of the forest to risk a break for it against unknown odds. Their rifles dropped to the ground and six pairs of hands thrust slowly into the air.
For a moment Hemingwood was up against a problem. He knew in his heart that if those mountaineers had the nerve they could make their escape against two Colts. The darkness and the distance between the opposing factions made accurate shooting almost impossible. The most sensible procedure was for either him or Apperson to go out and make sure they were thoroughly disarmed, though the presence of one or the other in the vicinity of the six silent Kentuckians meant that the other man could not shoot without risking the wounding or killing of his ally. But it was the only possible chance. And which part should he take? Should he approach them and leave Apperson to cover him, or vice versa? He was a better shot than Apperson—and possibly the Scot might hesitate to shoot.
He put the matter up to the sergeant bluntly. Apperson silently climbed out of the barricade and circled widely to approach the line of captives from the rear. If they were unarmed, except for their rifles on the ground, he and Apperson might get away with it, Hemingwood reflected. Then a thought occurred to him, and he called Apperson back. He heard whispers pass between the mountaineers.
“Keep quiet! No talking!” he called sharply. Then: “If they make a move, drop to the ground so I can shoot!” he told Apperson. “Wait a minute! Get in here! I’m going out there myself!”
Afterward Hemingwood figured that the mountaineers, sure that they were opposed to only two men with revolvers, got the courage from the fact to make a break for liberty. As always among the mountain people, they were undoubtedly desperate at the thought of capture. For, just as Hemingwood was climbing out of the barricade the six men made a concerted leap for their rifles. Like a flash Hemingwood dropped, and both Colts barked in a fusillade of shots. The flyer saw one man drop, and another screamed with pain. A hail of bullets poured from their rifles, and he heard Apperson groan.
“They got me!” he said weakly.
Hemingwood shoved another clip into his gun and emptied it into the woods wherein the Kentuckians had disappeared. He could hear them running through the undergrowth. When Hemingwood was really mad it was a sort of cold, calculating fury. That was his condition as he examined Apperson. It was a rather nasty looking wound in the hip, but apparently it was only a deep flesh wound. As he bound it with handkerchief and belt he said tersely: “Think you can move at all?”
Apperson tried, winced, and said: “I could hobble in an emergency, sir-r-r. What’s in your mind, may I ask?”
Hemingwood explained quickly. If there was a way to get those men he’d do it, and he did not figure the odds against him.