injured woman, men bawling and guns racketing enough to split a manâs eardrums. Above him the rifles sounded thinly in the rocks, booming on the echo. The attackers were voiceless. They knew what they had to do.
Mcallister crawled about fifty feet and settled down, allowing a little time to pass, waiting for somebody to give him a worthwhile target. He reckoned he was pretty near the closest men and if he fired at a man in so dangerous a spot, he wanted to be sure of killing him. The worst of this kind of countryâthere wasnât a stick of brush around so a man could lift his head without being seen. This he knew to his cost when he raised up to watch a man directly in front of him. The man was starting to show his head and shoulders and Mcallister was raising his gun to cut him down, when his hat was torn from his head and even as he was turning to return the fire a second shot splattered itself on the rocks at his side.
He was shocked to find that he had crawled to within a dozen feet of a man he hadnât known about. As the fellow fired his third shot, Mcallister snapped a shot at him that missed, but put him off balance. He saw the man jump in alarm and start to get back to cover and drove a shot into his body.
Lead whined meanly past his head and he dropped flat again, slewing himself around and finding that the rifleman he had been watching was trying to winkle him out. They settled down to a futureless shooting match, both of them reluctant to show themselves.
Well, there would have been no future to it, if through thedin of the battle, a scream had not come from the wagons below. And that was no mule that screamed. That was a woman and there was only one woman on that wagon-train.
Mcallister twisted his head around and saw the woman pitching forward out of the wagon. He got a brief glimpse of a man below her. His arms went around her and threw her aside like a helpless doll. Mcallister felt the impact as her body landed in the rocks.
Blinding rage ripped through him and he found himself yelling, but he knew that his yells were obliterated by the noise going on around him. He got to his feet and the game leg tried to give under him, but he cursed it and willed it to carry him. The fellow down below was firing point-blank at the wheelers and they were going down. Mcallister lined up on him, fired and missed because the range was too great, but he scared the man and drove him to cover under the wagon.
The rifleman above Mcallister tried for him, pumping shots frantically and showing that his excitement was greater than his skill. Mcallister swung around and pulled the trigger only to be rewarded by a faint click of the hammer falling on a spent load. He started down the grade, falling as the injured leg failed him, but lurching to his feet again and going on. The rifleman went on trying for him. Glancing up, he saw that men were coming out of the rocks on the other side of the road. Thrusting his gun away, he continued his agonising descent. During one of his falls, he filled both fists with rocks and these he hurled furiously at the man under the wagon and drew his fire toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the flutter of cloth as Mrs. Bankroft started to her feet and he bawled for her to get down. One of his own men ran along the wagons, waving an arm and shouting something that was inaudible. Suddenly, in mid-stride, he collapsed and lay kicking violently on the ground. Mcallister stooped and filled his fists again and lurched onto the flat. The man under the wagon was close now and his gun was on McAllister. The big man shattered a rock against the wheels of the wagon and he tripped as the gun went off. Mrs. Bankroft screamed again.
Mcallister levered himself off the ground and found the Henry under his hands. Exultation welling up in him, he levered it and drove a shot at the man under the wagon. He didnât wait to see if he had made a hit, but turned to meet aman coming down
Mcallister crawled about fifty feet and settled down, allowing a little time to pass, waiting for somebody to give him a worthwhile target. He reckoned he was pretty near the closest men and if he fired at a man in so dangerous a spot, he wanted to be sure of killing him. The worst of this kind of countryâthere wasnât a stick of brush around so a man could lift his head without being seen. This he knew to his cost when he raised up to watch a man directly in front of him. The man was starting to show his head and shoulders and Mcallister was raising his gun to cut him down, when his hat was torn from his head and even as he was turning to return the fire a second shot splattered itself on the rocks at his side.
He was shocked to find that he had crawled to within a dozen feet of a man he hadnât known about. As the fellow fired his third shot, Mcallister snapped a shot at him that missed, but put him off balance. He saw the man jump in alarm and start to get back to cover and drove a shot into his body.
Lead whined meanly past his head and he dropped flat again, slewing himself around and finding that the rifleman he had been watching was trying to winkle him out. They settled down to a futureless shooting match, both of them reluctant to show themselves.
Well, there would have been no future to it, if through thedin of the battle, a scream had not come from the wagons below. And that was no mule that screamed. That was a woman and there was only one woman on that wagon-train.
Mcallister twisted his head around and saw the woman pitching forward out of the wagon. He got a brief glimpse of a man below her. His arms went around her and threw her aside like a helpless doll. Mcallister felt the impact as her body landed in the rocks.
Blinding rage ripped through him and he found himself yelling, but he knew that his yells were obliterated by the noise going on around him. He got to his feet and the game leg tried to give under him, but he cursed it and willed it to carry him. The fellow down below was firing point-blank at the wheelers and they were going down. Mcallister lined up on him, fired and missed because the range was too great, but he scared the man and drove him to cover under the wagon.
The rifleman above Mcallister tried for him, pumping shots frantically and showing that his excitement was greater than his skill. Mcallister swung around and pulled the trigger only to be rewarded by a faint click of the hammer falling on a spent load. He started down the grade, falling as the injured leg failed him, but lurching to his feet again and going on. The rifleman went on trying for him. Glancing up, he saw that men were coming out of the rocks on the other side of the road. Thrusting his gun away, he continued his agonising descent. During one of his falls, he filled both fists with rocks and these he hurled furiously at the man under the wagon and drew his fire toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the flutter of cloth as Mrs. Bankroft started to her feet and he bawled for her to get down. One of his own men ran along the wagons, waving an arm and shouting something that was inaudible. Suddenly, in mid-stride, he collapsed and lay kicking violently on the ground. Mcallister stooped and filled his fists again and lurched onto the flat. The man under the wagon was close now and his gun was on McAllister. The big man shattered a rock against the wheels of the wagon and he tripped as the gun went off. Mrs. Bankroft screamed again.
Mcallister levered himself off the ground and found the Henry under his hands. Exultation welling up in him, he levered it and drove a shot at the man under the wagon. He didnât wait to see if he had made a hit, but turned to meet aman coming down
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