"An' that spy won't come t' his senses very soon," declared the avenging cowboy. "When he does he'll have an awful headache!"
As quietly as possible they made their way to the opening. Slim, as a sort of captain, was in advance of the others and looked in. He came back to say:
"They're gettin' ready for suthin'! They're all standin' near their horses, an' seem to be plannin' a move. Get ready t' rush in when I give the word!"
There was a final look to arms and saddle leathers, and then the foreman cried:
"Get into action!" at the same time spurring forward his pony, an example followed by all the others as they rushed into the defile.
And action there was, but not exactly of the kind the boy ranchers and their friends anticipated. For Del Pinzo (easily recognized among the lesser lights of rascaldom) with his followers, after their first angry shouts, leaped for their horses. And their agility in that respect spoke well for their preparedness. In an instant, it seemed, every one of the two score, and more, was in saddle, and headed out of the defile. They were retreating—riding away from the following avengers, and going, it seemed, further into the maze of winding clefts amid the mountains.
To the credit of Del Pinzo—if credit it be and if he be entitled to get credit—he rode at the rear, not starting his horse until all his men had raced away ahead of him.
And then, as Bud, Dick and the others pressed into the defile after them, the Greaser turned and fired once, but with such quick action that eye could scarce follow the motion of his hand and weapon.
There was a sharp crack and the hat of Yellin' Kid, who rode immediately behind Bud, sailed off his head, at the same time that a bullet zipped viciously over the pursuers.
"Close call that, Kid!" remarked Snake, leaning over as his horse galloped forward, and picking up his friend's hat.