topping the ridge evidently got a glimpse of me. He up with his rifle and let drive, and I shot at the man by the spruce trees.
I left the ground in a diving run. I had no hopes of scoring a good hit, but the bullet turned him. As I had run to his right, which meant he had to swing toward the hard side, he missed his shot at me. I went into some hummocks of grass and rubble, rolled over three times, and took another diving run into the woods.
Turning, I shot three times at the bunch on the ridge as fast as I could work the lever on the Winchester. I was shooting at a target seven or eight hundred feet higher and some distance off, but the bullets lit among them.
Like I figured, it blew things all to bloody hell. One of those horses jumped right straight out ahead of him, hit that slope on all fours, went to his knees, throwing his rider, and, still sliding, scrambled up and made it to the bottom.
Another of the horses came down the slope on that narrow path hellbent for election with the rider hanging on with both hands. The horse hit the bottom of the trail and stopped short, and the rider went right on over his head. He hit hard, got up, and fell over.
The other two who had been up there disappeared down the other side. I kept on moving. Somewhere in this same patch of woods was that killer who had come close to notching my skull a few minutes back.
If I'd put a bullet in him, I'd be lucky, but I might just have burned him or his rifle or hit near him. Any one of those things can make a man jump.
I lit out at a run along the slope, keeping into the trees. Mostly I went downhill because that was the easiest way to go. Then I slowed down and worked my way along the slope to get to where Ap was feeding.
There were dips and hollows in the land, brush and trees here and there, but mostly just grass and flowers. The rim of the cirque was just over yonder, so I went that way, doing the Injun in the grass, snaking along when necessary, running when I could.
At that altitude, even if you're used to it as I was, you just don't do much running. Finally I hunkered down between three thick-boled old spruce and waited, catching my breath and trying to see where they were located.
My horses were grazing about a hundred yards off, and one of theirs, his saddle under his belly, stood spraddle-legged about that same distance away but closer to where they must be.
Having a moment to spare, I fed some shells into my rifle and held my place. At least two of them had reached the bottom, and one was in no shape for action, judging by the tumble taken. One of them was out in front of me somewhere and so was the one who first shot at me.
Time dragged by slowly. Shadows began to gather . In the basin. On the rim there was golden sunlight, and there was a pinkish tinge to the clouds. Out over the basin, somebody called ... it sounded like a woman, but that couldn't be.
Looking toward my horses, I decided to try for them. I went forward, keeping to the deepest grass and wild flowers, some of which were almost waist-high.
No telling who they were out there. Andre Baston and Hippo Swan? Probably. But they had started one bunch of killers after me a good while back, and they'd surely not hesitate to try again. Killing was something you could buy cheap, these days. The chances of being charged with a killing out here were slight.
Many men went west, many never came back, and few questions were asked.
It took me some stretch of time before I reached my horses, even though they weren't far off. I moved along, keeping out of sight as best I could, and heard nothing. And then, just as dark was coming on the rim up yonder, I saw a rider top out there, hold fast for a minute, and start down the trail. All he could see from up there was a great black bowl of darkness.
As I edged closer, old Ap pricked his ears and took a step toward me, curious as to why I was down there on the ground. 'Easy, boy!' I whispered. 'Easy, now!'
He stood fast and my hand went out to gather up the reins. I drew the horse nearer to me, then, carefully, I got to my feet.
Suddenly, at my elbow, a voice spoke--a woman's voice. The shock of it sent a chill right up my spine.
'I believe I have been hurt. Can you help me?'
Chapter XXII
It was Fanny Baston.
She had a voice that was one in ten thousand--low, soft, inviting. Even in the darkness I could see there was blood on her face, her blouse and coat were torn, and she was favoring one leg.
'Your friends are close by.' I wanted no part of her, just none at all. She was hurt, all right, but she had a brother and an uncle within call, and mayhap others as well.
'I think I am ...' she just let go everything and slumped to the ground, passed out.
I swore. Yes sir, I swore. The last thing I needed right now was to be saddled with a hurt woman, especially this one. She hadn't seemed to know me. Maybe that rap on the skull had done it, but there wasn't much a body could do.
If I called for them, I'd get shot. If I left her there, she might die. I'd no idea how bad off she was, and I couldn't see any way but to take her along. So I picked her up and put her in the saddle. Holding her with one hand I started forward. I hadn't gone that way more than a few minutes when Ap stopped. I tried to urge him on, but he wouldn't budge a step. Leaving Fanny Baston slumped over the saddle horn, I went forward and almost stepped off of the world.
My foot went off the edge, and it was lucky I had hold of the bridle. Pulling back, I knocked a small rock off into space, and it fell what seemed like a long time. I backed up and turned the horse, and we worked back into the scattered trees and into the grass.
What I needed now was a hideout. Wandering around in the dark at the edge of a cliff was no way to find one, yet find one I did. It was fool's luck, nothing else.
I came to another place where the horse stopped, but that time I could see trees ahead of me. I dropped a rock and it fell only a few feet and lit soft.
I worked along the edge until I found a place that sort of slanted off and I went down. I was on a lower level, maybe six or eight feet lower than where I'd been, and there was thick grass underfoot.
I had tied Fanny's hands to the pommel, and now I led the horses down and along under the trees. When I got behind a small shoulder of that ledge, I pulled up, knelt close to the ground, and took the chance to strike a match.
Some tall spruce, boles eight to ten inches through, were close around me. I was on level, grassy ground. I untied Fanny's hands and lifted her down. She was unconscious, or seemed to be. If she was shamming, she was doing an almighty good job of it. I put her on the grass, stripped the gear from my horses, and led them over on the grass and picketed them.
Coming back to the trees, I stood there for a moment, getting the feel of the place. All around me was darkness, overhead a starlit sky except where the limbs of spruce intervened. We seemed to be in a sort of pocket. One edge of it, I was quite sure, was the lip of that dropoff over which I'd almost stepped--the outer edge of the mountain itself.
Down here, and under the spruce, there seemed a good chance a fire would not be seen. In the dark I surely could do nothing for that girl, and I was hungry and wanting coffee.
Breaking a few of the dried suckers from the trees and gathering wood by the feel, I put together enough for a fire, then lit a small blaze. Fanny Baston was out cold, all right, and she was pale as anybody I'd seen who was also alive.
She'd had a nasty blow on the skull and her head was cut to the bone. One arm was scraped, taking a lot of the hide off. Her leg wasn't broken, but there was a swelling and a bruised bone. I heated water, started coffee, and bathed some of the blood off her face and head. I also bathed the arm a little, getting some of the grass and gravel out of the skinned place.
I took the thong off my six-shooter. If I needed a gun I was going to need it fast. My Winchester I kept to hand, but across the fire from that woman.
By the time I'd made coffee her breathing was less ragged and she was settling down into what seemed to be a natural sleep. She was a beautiful woman, no denying it, but here I was, so weary I scarce could stand, and I
