The puncher handed over his flask, and the other held it before his eye and appraised the contents in approved fashion. “Don’t mind if I do. Here’s how!”
“How!” echoed Missou, in turn, and tipped up the bottle till the liquor gurgled down his baked throat.
“He’s fanning out his men so as to, get us both at the front and back door. Lucky there ain’t but four of them.”
“I guess we better lie back to back,” proposed Missou. “If our luck’s good I reckon they’re going to have a gay time rushing this fort.”
A few desultory shots had already been dropped among the cottonwoods, and returned by the defendants when Missou let out a yell of triumph.
“Glory Hallelujah! Here comes the boys splittin’ down the road hell-for-leather. That lopsided, ring-tailed snorter of a hawss-thief is gathering his wolves for a hike back to the tall timber. Feed me a cigareet, Mac. I plumb want to celebrate.”
It was as the cow-puncher had said. Down the road a cloud of dust was sweeping toward them, in the centre of which they made out three hardriding cowboys from the ranch. Farther back, in the distance, was another dust whirl. The outlaw chief’s hard, vigilant gaze swept over the reinforcements! and decided instantly that the game had gone against him for the present. He whistled shrilly twice, and began a slow retreat toward the hills. The miscreants flung a few defiant shots at the advancing cowmen, and disappeared, swallowed up in the earth swells.
The homeward march was a slow one, for Bannister had begun to show signs of consciousness and it was necessary to carry him with extreme care. While they were still a mile from the ranch house the pinto and its rider could be seen loping toward them.
“Ride forward, Denver, and tell Miss Helen we’re coming. Better have her get everything fixed to doctor him soon as we get there. Give him the best show in the world, and he’ll still be sailing awful close to the divide. I’ll bet a hundred plunks he’ll cash in, anyway.”
“Done!”