The man kept moving ahead, until he was masked from Jimmy, who crawled out of the brush and headed for the rim of the washout again, trading sides with the other man. For about thirty feet Jimmy crawled swiftly, dropped behind some cover and waited.
It was about five minutes later that he saw the man again. He had moved farther up the cañon, possibly thinking that Jimmy had made his escape. By standing up, Jimmy could get a good look at this man, who was too far away for Jimmy to take a chance with the shotgun; so Jimmy dropped back into the washout, bent down low and headed in the general direction of the horses.
But he had not escaped detection. A bullet sang past his ear, and he stumbled over a boulder, falling sidewise into a cut on the left-hand side of the washout. To the shooter, it possibly appeared as if he had been struck. Jimmy was half-standing, half-lying in the cut, when he heard the drumming of footsteps, as the man hurried forward. There was no chance of concealment there.
It seemed as if the man were almost over him, when he raised up, shoving the shotgun barrel over the rim of the washout. The man jerked to a stop, only fifty feet away, firing his rifle from his hip, just as Jimmy pressed the trigger. The bullet struck just in front of Jimmy’s face, filling his nose, eyes and mouth with dirt, and the kick of the shotgun sent him running backward down the short slope, where he hooked his heel on a rock, and sprawled on his back.
It was several moments before he could get up. He felt weak, nauseated, as he spat out the dirt, blinked tearfully and climbed to the top of the washout. Out there on the flat ground was the man, sprawling on his face, his rifle flung aside.
Jimmy did not go near him. He sighed heavily and headed for the horses, where Marion’s white face and astonished eyes drove every other thought from his mind. Neither of them spoke as he cut the ropes which bound her, and she got stiffly from the saddle, clinging to him.
“You—you came, didn’t you, Jimmy?” she whispered hoarsely.
“Yea-a-ah, I sure did.” Jimmy grinned on one side of his face, because the other was glued tightly with gore. “It was quite a trip. This has been a tough season, Marion.”
It was rather inane conversation, but under the circumstances it was excusable.
The man was trying to sit up, and Marion pointed to him breathlessly. Jimmy went staggering out to him, a loose-jointed young man, who had been hurt so many times that he was numb all over. He picked up the rifle and stepped back, tottering on his feet.