“Oh, I’m soft in the haid,” Dud grunted. “Gonna trail along. I’ll tell you right now I ain’t lost Houck any, but if you’re set on this fool business, why, I’ll take a whirl with you.”
“Good old Dud,” Bob beamed. “I’ll bet we get away with it fine.”
“Crazy old Dud,” the owner of the name grumbled. “I’ll bet we get our topknots scalped.”
They rode down from the rim-rock, bearing to the right, as far away from the river as possible. The Utes in the blackberry fringe caught sight of them and concentrated their fire on the galloping horsemen. Presently the riders dipped for a minute behind a swell of ground.
“A heap more comfortable ridin’ here,” Dud said, easing his horse for a few moments to a slower pace. “I never did know before why the good Lord made so much of this country stand up on end, but if I get outa this hole I’ll not kick at travelin’ over hills so frequent. They sure got their uses when Injuns are pluggin’ at you.”
They made as wide a circuit as the foothills would allow. At times they were under a brisk fire as they cantered through the sage. This increased when they swung across the mesa toward the river. Fortunately they were now almost out of range.
Riding along the edge of the bluff, they found a place where their sure-footed cowponies could slide and scramble down. In the valley, as they dashed across to the willows where Bob had left Houck, they were again under fire. Even after they had plunged into the thicket of saplings they could hear bullets zipping through the foliage to right and left.
The glazed eyes in Houck’s flushed face did not recognize the punchers. Defiance glowered in his stare.
“Where’d you get the notion, you red devils, that Jake Houck is a quitter? Torment me, will you? Burn me up with thirst, eh? Go to it an’ see.”
Bob took a step or two toward the wounded man. “Don’t you know me, Houck? We’ve come to look after you. This is Dud Hollister. You know him.”