“That’s my horse!” exploded Hashknife. “Mary Jane is a-foot! Come on!”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three distinct shots split the night and rattle among the rocks.
“Six-shooter,” gasps Hashknife, stumbling. “I wish the devil would clean up his yard!”
We staggers along, cutting our feet on the sharp rocks and praying that it will be light enough to shoot when we meet somebody to shoot at. All to once we hits the edge of that deep cañon. There ain’t no warning. I feels my feet slip into some loose stuff, so I grabs hold of Windy.
I hears Hashknife speak an unlovely word, and then me and Windy starts doing a toboggan to the bottom. It wasn’t straight down, but I’d just as soon fall as to set down in that loose stuff and get all heated up doing a slide for life.
We landed in the bottom with about a ton of loose stuff, composed mostly of glassy gravel and other sharp-pointed particles. I got the dust out of my mouth, and I orates openly that we’ve lost Hashknife.
That operation caused a bullet to flup into our private landslide.
“Mebbe you’ll keep your mouth shut,” says Hashknife’s voice.