“We missed the posse; so came here to see what we could do to help,” said Neal.
Barnhardt squinted at the dead men, but said nothing.
“Will yuh please tell us what it means?” asked the sheriff. “You ain’t told anythin’ yet, yuh know, Hartley.”
Hashknife smiled grimly.
“There ain’t much to tell, Scotty. These men came here, wearin’ masks. They tried to get away when they saw yuh comin’, but I blocked ’em, and we shot it out.”
“Oh, I can see that! But—”
“Good ——! Here comes some more!” Johnny Grant’s yell turned all interest away from Hashknife.
It was Marion and Jimmy on one horse, leading another horse, on which was roped a swaying figure of a man, his body slouched forward until his face was almost buried in his chest. Jimmy was riding behind Marion, clinging to her, while he swayed weakly, a silly smile on his dirty face.
Men ran to them, while others unroped the sagging figure on the other horse. It was Dug Haley, of the Santa Rita mine. He was conscious, but unable to stand. Willing hands lifted Jimmy off the horse, but his left leg was too sore for him to stand on it for several moments.
“I—I got him,” Jimmy told Hashknife hoarsely. “Filled him full of shot. We had a regular battle down in the cañon.”