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Mulford, Clarence Edward, 1883-1956

"Bar-20 Days"

The
quicker it's over the better."
"Right you are," came from the rear.
"Ride up the arroyo as close as we can get, an' then over the edge an'
straight at 'em," Buck ordered. "Their shooting an' the rain will cover
what noise we make on the soft ground. An' boys, _no quarter_!"
"Reckon _not_!" gritted Red, savagely. "Not with Edwards an' Jackson
dead, an' the Kid fighting for his life!"
"They're still at it!" cried Lanky Smith, as the faint and intermittent
sound of firing was heard; the driving wind was blowing from the town,
and this, also, would deaden the noise of their approach.
"Thank the Lord! That means that there's somebody left to fight 'em,"
exclaimed Red. "Hope it's the Kid," he muttered.
"They can't rush the store till they get Lacey, an' they can't rush him
till they get the store," shouted Neal over his shoulder. "They'd be in
a cross fire if they tried either--an' that's what licks 'em."
"They'll be in a cross fire purty soon," promised Pete, grimly.
Hopalong and Red reached the edge of the arroyo first and plunged over
the bank into the yellow storm-water swirling along the bottom like a
miniature flood. After them came Buck, Neal, and the others, the water
shooting up in sheets as each successive horse plunged in. Out again
on the farther side they strung out into single file along the narrow
foot-hold between water and bank and raced towards the sharp bend some
hundreds of yards ahead, the point in the arroyo's course nearest the
town.


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