Ladd fell backward still holding the .405. Gale dragged him into the
shelter of his own position, and dreading to look at him, took up the
heavy weapon. It was with a kind of savage strength that he gripped
the rifle; and it was with a cold and deadly intent that he aimed and
fired. The first Greaser huddled low, let his carbine go clattering
down, and then crawled behind the rim. The second and third jerked
back. The fourth seemed to flop up over the crest of lava. A dark
arm reached for him, clutched his leg, tried to drag him up. It was
in vain. Wildly grasping at the air the bandit fell, slid down a
steep shelf, rolled over the rim, to go hurtling down out of sight.
Fingering the hot rifle with close-pressed hands, Gale watched
the sky line along the high point of lava. It remained unbroken.
As his passion left him he feared to look back at his companions,
and the cold chill returned to his breast.
"Shore--I'm damn glad--them Greasers ain't usin' soft-nose bullets,"
drawled a calm voice.
Swift as lightning Gale whirled.
"Laddy! I thought you were done for," cried Gale, with a break in
his voice.
"I ain't a-mindin' the bullet much. But that choya joint took my
nerve, an' you can gamble on it. Dick, this hole's pretty high up,
ain't it?"
The ranger's blouse was open at the neck, and on his right shoulder
under the collar bone was a small hole just beginning to bleed.
"Sure it's high, Laddy," replied Gale, gladly.
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