Part 59 (1/2)
They pa.s.sed the night miserably, waiting for an attack which did not come. The pain of their wounds was added to the discomfort of the cold.
Dawn found them s.h.i.+vering, numbed, weary-eyed, staring through the lifting gloom, their weapons ready. As the light grew they could see their own camp, but no one occupied it. Farther off a column of smoke rose.
”Cookin' breakfast down in a hole,” said McHale. ”Playin' it plumb safe. They ain't takin' a chance on your shootin'.”
”They'd better not,” said Sandy. His young face showed grimed and pinched in the growing light, but his eyes were hard and clear. ”Do you s'pose I could sneak over and get a stand on them?”
”I wouldn't try. You bet somebody's keeping cases on these rocks.”
Half an hour pa.s.sed, an hour. The sun struck the basin, mottling its green with gold, striking their chilled bodies with grateful warmth.
”Say,” asked Sandy, ”don't you want a drink of water?”
”Quit foolin',” McHale replied. ”I been thinkin' of it for hours. I could drink that there lake dry.”
Still nothing happened. The waiting began to get on their nerves.
”What d'you s'pose they're framing up?” Sandy asked.
”Don't know. Durn it! I can't do nothin' unless they run in on us,”
McHale grumbled. ”Wisht I could hold a rifle.”
”Let 'em try to run in,” said Sandy grimly. He had McHale's rifle in addition to his own. ”They've got to come two hundred yards without cover. I'll stop every blamed one of them in one hundred.”
Suddenly he lifted his rifle, hesitated, and lay with his cheek to the stock, staring along the sights.
”See somethin'?” McHale asked.
”Over there past those jack pines. Man on a horse. He'll come out again.”
Far off among the trees they saw not one mounted man, but several. They could catch glimpses merely. The hors.e.m.e.n appeared to be making for the valley, but not by the way in which they had come.
”By thunder!” cried McHale, ”it looks like they're pullin' out.”
His further remarks were lost in a rolling fire as Sandy unhooked his entire magazine at the retreating figures. He caught up McHale's rifle and emptied that, too.
”Save some ca'tridges for seed,” advised McHale. ”What's the use of snapshootin' at that range? You can't hit nothin'.”
”You never know what luck you'll have,” said Sandy. ”I couldn't draw a sight with them moving in the brush. How many did you count?”
”Five--near as I could make it.”
”Say, how'd it be if I went after them?”
”It'd be one durn young fool the less,” McHale replied. ”You want to know when you're well off. Don't stand up yet. There may be some play to this that we don't savvy.”
”Rats! They've got a bellyful, I tell you. Five's the bunch, ain't it?--all but that one we got. I ain't going to stay cached here all day. I want some grub.”
But McHale persuaded him to wait ten minutes. Then, after exposing a hat and a rolled-up coat as decoys without the least result, they emerged from their fortress.