They were running as fast as they were able, but both of the cowboys knew that, as far as speed was concerned, they were not well mounted. But the horses were willing to run, and that was something to recommend them.
“We horned into somethin’,” panted Hashknife, as a bullet whizzed past them. “Them danged fools have made a mistake.”
“As long as they don’t know it—say! That last bullet was too close! C’mon, Molasses!”
The pursuers were shooting recklessly now. The chase was nearing Jack Hartwell’s place, and they seemed determined to kill or capture these two men before they reached that ranch.
Hashknife turned in his saddle and shot at them.
“That split ’em, cowboy!” cheered Sleepy. “Keep hittin’ the grit.”
Then came a splattering of shots and Hashknife’s horse went stumbling into a fall. But the lanky cowboy was not caught napping. As the horse went down, he swung free from the saddle and ran several steps before he went sprawling.
Sleepy jerked up quickly, whirled and sent shot after shot at the oncoming crowd, which had drawn up quickly. Hashknife got quickly to his feet and ran to Sleepy, where he vaulted on behind him.
“Got a horse to pay for yours,” panted Sleepy, as he spurred the overburdened horse onward. “Went down in a heap.”
Sleepy’s volley had driven the pursuers to cover momentarily, but now they came on again. Bullets whizzed and skipped around them, but a stern shot at a running horse in the dark, especially from the saddle of a running horse, is rather difficult.