Red was downstream casting at a rock across the torrent but the wind
toyed with the heavy, water-soaked _reata_ as though it were a string.
As Hopalong reached his side a piece of driftwood ducked under the water
and an angry humming sound died away downstream. As the report reached
their ears a jet of water spurted up into Red's face and he stepped back
involuntarily.
"He's so shaky," Hopalong remarked, looking back at the wreath of smoke
above the boulder. "I reckon I must have hit him harder than I thought
in Harlan's. Gee! He's wild as blazes!" he yelled as a bullet hummed
high above his head and struck sharply against the rock wall.
"Yes," Red replied, coiling the rope. "I was trying to rope that rock
over there. If I could anchor to that, the current would push us over
quick. But it's too far with this wind blowing."
"We can't do nothing here 'cept get plugged. He'll be getting steadier
as he rests from his fight with the water," Hopalong remarked, and added
quickly, "Say, remember that meadow back there a ways? We can make her
from there, all right."
"Yo're right; that's what we've got to do. He's sending 'em nearer every
shot--Gee! I could 'most feel the wind of that one. An' blamed if it
ain't stopped raining. Come on."
They clambered up the slippery, muddy bank to where they had left their
horses, and cantered back over their trail.
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