He didn’t see them, but his effort was rewarded with a bullet, which threw sand in their ears.
“I reckon we better move on,” he grunted. “Keep lower than a snake.”
Two more bullets from the east, which scattered sand where they had been, assured Cultus that at least one of their assailants was not yet aware of their change of position. They were nearing the sheer sandstone side of the canyon now, and Cultus was looking for a place where they might make a permanent stand.
A hundred feet ahead was a break in the wall. It didn’t look exactly promising, but it might be better than out in the open. A shallow, angling washout gave them a little advantage, but one shooter had located them again. His first shot was three feet high, and bored a hole in the sandstone wall above them.
“Long range stuff,” panted Cultus. “If this washout continues, we might have a chance.”
They dragged their way along to the mouth of the fissure, where a little patch of brush gave them a few minutes of security.
“Gee, I never felt so big in my life,” panted Jane, as she stretched out flat on her back, rubbing her elbows, where the sand had cut the tender skin.
Another bullet struck near them, and she ceased rubbing. Cultus had been studying the fissure which seemed to run back for quite a ways, but seemingly without any angles behind which they might hide. As near as he could see, it was open to the top of the cliffs.
A bullet from the east settled the question.
“We’ll try that fissure,” he told her. “It might be a death-trap for us, but we’ve got to take that chance. Anyway, they’ve got to face us, and there’ll be no crossfire. When we start for the openin’, we’ve got to crawl real fast for a few feet. There’s some broken sandstone in there, but not enough to stop many bullets. C’mon.”