They went across that open bit of country like a couple of lizards, and into that fissure, while a bullet showered them with sand from a projection above their heads. Cultus saw where the bullet had scored the sandstone. He patted Jane on the shoulder.
“We’re all set until they get located again. That bullet came from the north, and it came on an angle that proves he’s got to change his position in order to shoot straight into this fissure. But if he ever does get the right position on them opposite cliffs, he can rake us at his own sweet will. And if they both get up there—good mornin’, Saint Peter.”
Cultus got boldly to his feet now and began moving back through the narrow fissure, which was barely wide enough for him to pass through. Jane came close behind him to a wider spot, where he drew her past him. The fissure extended about seventy feet to where it narrowed to not over twelve inches across.
Jane squeezed through for about six feet, where an unseen fissure broke in from the west. It was not over six feet in length. Her shout of gladness caused Cultus to twist his way through, thankful that he was thin enough to make it.
“By golly, this is great!” he exclaimed. “We’re safe for a while.”
“For all the while, you mean.”
Cultus shook his head slowly.
“We’re bottled up, thasall.”
“But the sheriff and his posse will find us.”
“Not a chance. We won’t know when they come, and they don’t know we are here. Them two bushwhackers will take it easy until after the posse has gone, and then they’ll cork our bottle.”