Came a quick word of warning, a guttural grunt, and the lantern was dashed out. Then a tongue of yellow light flashed at them, and Brick felt the bullet brush his cheek. He and Harp were only half-way up the side of the fence, and in a bad position to shoot.
Brick climbed swiftly to the top, while Harp dropped to the ground and raced for the gate. Two more shots licked out into the night toward Brick, who was shooting at the flashes, while Harp was pounding along, trying to block the one exit.
He gained the gate, shooting swiftly at a shadowy figure, when he felt a thudding blow against his shoulder and the gun fell from his fingers. Someone darted past him and faded into the night. Brick came running across the corral, calling to Harp, who was leaning against the fence, searching dizzily for the thing that was searing his shoulder.
Brick almost ran into him.
“Where’d they go, Harp?” he panted.
“I dunno,” muttered Harp. “Come and help me, will yuh, Brick? I’ve got hit with somethin’.”
“You got hit, Harp? For sake! Wait a minute.”
Brick lighted a match and held it between them. Then he whistled softly.
“Hang onto yourself, Harp,” he cautioned. “They knifed yuh. Grit yore teeth, cowboy.”
They both grunted softly and Brick laughed shortly.