The dripping horses scrambled up the slippery incline and then,
under the goading of spurs and quirts, leaped forward as fast as they
could go across the level, soggy plain.
A quarter of a mile ahead of them lay the scattered shacks of the town,
and as they drew nearer to it the riders could see the flashes of guns
and the smoke-fog lying close to the ground. Fire spat from Jackson's
store and a cloud of smoke still lingered around a window in Lacey's
saloon. Then a yell reached their ears, a yell of rage, consternation
and warning. Figures scurried to seek cover and the firing from
Jackson's and Lacey's grew more rapid.
A mounted man emerged from a corral and tore away, others following his
example, and the outfit separated to take up the chase individually.
Harlan, wounded hard, was trying to run to where he had left his horse,
and after him fled Slivers Lowe. Hopalong was gaining on them when he
saw Slivers raise his arm and fire deliberately into the back of the
proprietor of the Oasis, leap over the falling body, vault into the
saddle of Harlan's horse and gallop for safety. Hopalong's shots went
wide and the last view any one had of Slivers in that part of the
country was when he dropped into an arroyo to follow it for safety.
Laramie Joe fled before Red Connors and Red's rage was so great that it
spoiled his accuracy, and he had the sorrow of seeing the pursued grow
faint in the mist and fog.
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