Leroy opened his eyes and smiled faintly. “Guess again, York.”
“You don’t mean—”
He nodded. “Right this time—Hardman and Chaves and Reilly. They shot to get us both. With us out of the way they could divide the treasure between them.”
Neil choked. “You ain’t bad hurt, old man. Say you ain’t bad hurt, Phil.”
“More than I can carry, York; shot through and through. I’ve been doubtful of Reilly for a long time.”
“By the Lord, if I don’t get the rattlesnake for this!” swore Neil between his teeth. “Ain’t there nothin’ I can do for you, old pardner?”
In sharp succession four shots rang out. Neil grasped his rifle, leaning forward and crouching for cover. He turned a puzzled face toward Leroy. “I don’t savvy. They ain’t shooting at us.”
“The sheriff,” explained Leroy. “They forgot him, and he doubled back on them.”
“I’ll bet Val got one of them,” cried Neil, his face lighting.
“He’s got one—or he’s quit living. That’s a sure thing. Why don’t you circle up on them from behind, York?”