"Thet's jist to show what a 45-90 can do," remarked Bill.
Bud reloaded his weapon while Bill shot several times. Herky-Jerky had his
gun in hand, but contented himself with peering from different chinks
between the logs. I hid behind the wide stone fireplace, and though I felt
pretty safe from flying bullets, I began to feel the icy grip of fear. I
had seen too much of these men in excitement, and knew if circumstances so
brought it about there might come a moment when my life would not be worth
a pin. They were all sober now, and deadly quiet. Buell showed the greatest
alarm, though he had begun to settle down to what looked like fight. Herky
was more fearless than any of them, and cooler even than Bill. All at once
I missed the Mexican. If he had not slipped out of the room he had hidden
under the brush of the fallen loft or in a pile of blankets. But the room
was smoky, and it was hard for me to be certain.
Some time passed with no shots and with no movement inside the cabin.
Slowly the blue smoke wafted out of the door. The sunlight danced in gleams
through the holes in the ragged roof. There was a pleasant swish of pine
branches against the cabin.
"Listen, , whispered Bud, hoarsely. "I heerd a pony snort."
Then the rapid beat of hard hoofs on the trail was followed by several
shots from the hillside.
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