"Fire at their legs, Frank. All we want to do is to stop them. Ruth, you run ahead, straight for the trees. We'll be with you in a minute," Yeager gave orders quietly.
The girl flashed one look at him, found assurance in his strong, lean face, and obeyed without a word.
Farrar's rifle was already scattering bullets rather wildly into the night. Lead spattered against the adobe wall behind them. But the attackers were checked. Their fire was of a desultory character. There was such a thing as being too impetuous. Who were these men they were assailing? Perhaps they were acting under orders of Pasquale. Better not be too rash. So the mind of the peon soldiers decided.
As soon as Ruth had reached the shelter of the grove her friends moved to join her. They were halfway across the open when the cowpuncher plunged to the ground again.
The camera man turned and ran back to him. "What is it, Steve? Have they hit you?" he asked anxiously.
"Plugged a pill into my laig as I took the elevator down from the second story. Gimme a hand up."
Frank put an arm around his waist as a support and they reached cover just as the leg failed for a third time. Yeager crawled forward a few yards on his knees into the underbrush.
Soft arms slid around his neck and shoulder as someone plumped down beside him.
"You're wounded. You've been shot," Ruth breathed tremulously.
"Yes," assented Yeager. "Hand me your rifle, Frank."