"Dick, mebbe there's one or two left above; but we needn't figure
much on it," said Ladd, as, loading the rifle, he jerked his
fingers quickly from the hot breech. "Listen! Jim an' Yaqui are
hittin' it up lively down below. I'll sneak down there. You stay
here an' keep about half an eye peeled up yonder, an' keep the
rest my way."
Ladd crossed the hole, climbed down into the deep crack where Thorne
had fallen, and then went stooping along with only his head above
the level. Presently he disappeared. Gale, having little to fear
from the high ridge, directed most of his attention toward the point
beyond which Ladd had gone. The firing had become desultory,
and the light carbine shots outnumbered the sharp rifle shots five
to one. Gale made a note of the fact that for some little time he
had not heard the unmistakable report of Jim Lash's automatic.
Then ensued a long interval in which the desert silence seemed
to recover its grip. The .405 ripped it asunder--spang--spang
--spang. Gale fancied he heard yells. There were a few pattering
shots still farther down the trail. Gale had an uneasy conviction
that Rojas and some of his band might go straight to the waterhole.
It would be hard to dislodge even a few men from that retreat.
There seemed a lull in the battle. Gale ventured to stand high, and
screened behind choyas, he swept the three-quarter circle of lava
with his glass. In the distance he saw horses, but no riders.
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