At that instant the tattoo drummed with greater
vigor and such a hail of lead poured in through the opening that the
door was promptly closed, leaving the three men outside to shift for
themselves with the darkness their only cover.
Duke and his companions whispered together as they lay flat and agreed
upon a plan of action. Going around the ends of the house was suicide
and no better than waiting for the rising moon to show them to the
enemy; but there was no reason why the roof could not be utilized. Tim
and Charley boosted Duke up, then Tim followed, and the pair on the roof
pulled Charley to their side. Flat roofs were great institutions they
decided as they crawled cautiously towards the other side. This roof was
of hard, sun-baked adobe, over two feet thick, and they did not care if
their friends shot up on a gamble.
"Fine place, all right," thought Charley, grinning broadly. Then he
turned an agonized face to Tim, his chest rising. "_Hitch! Hitch!_"
he choked, fighting with all his will to master it. "_Hitch-chew!
Hitch-chew! Hitch-chew!_" he sneezed, loudly. There was a scramble below
and a ripple of mirth floated up to them.
"_Hitch-chew_?" jeered a voice. "What do we want to hit you for?"
"Look us over, children," invited another.
"Wait until the moon comes up," chuckled the third. "Be like knocking
the nigger baby down for Red an' the others.
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