The mine owner covered the two wounded outlaws, while his men disarmed them. Then he walked across to his friend, laid down his rifle, and knelt beside him. 332
“Did he get you bad, old man?”
“Bad enough so I reckon I’ll have a doc look at it one of these days.” Bob grinned to keep down the pain.
Once more there came the sound of hoofs beating the trail of decomposed granite. Bellamy looked up and grasped his rifle. A single rider loomed out of the darkness and dragged his horse to a halt, a dozen yards from the mine owner, in such a position that he was directly behind one of the pack horses.
“Up with your hands!” ordered Bellamy on suspicion.
Two hands went swiftly up from beside the saddle. The moonlight gleamed on something bright in the right hand. A flash rent the night. A jagged, red-hot pain tore through the shoulder of Hal Yarnell. He fired wildly, the shock having spoiled his aim.
The attacker laughed exultantly, mockingly, as he swung his horse about.
“A present from Black MacQueen,” he jeered.
With that, he was gone again, taking the pack animal with him. He had had the audacity to come back after his loot—and had got some of it, too.
One of the unwounded cowpunchers gave pursuit, but half an hour later he returned ruefully.