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"Hang keerfulness about firin'!" exclaimed Braymer. "I'm a-goin' to blaze away." Another shot came from the wagon, and Williamson's horse uttered a genuine cry of anguish and stumbled. The indignant rider hastily dismounted, and exclaimed: "It's mighty kind of 'em not to shoot us, but they know how to get away all the same."
"Or mebbe he hain't got time to load. Like enough he's captured the sheriff, an' is a-takin him off. We've got to be keerful how we shoot." The men gained steadily on the wagon, and finally Bill Braymer felt sure enough to shout: "Halt, or we'll fire!" The only response was a sudden flash at the rear of the wagon; at the same instant the challenger's horse fell dead.
Such, at least, were the thoughts of Dennis Braymer as he worked with delicate care at the task of sawing into the hard cement of a portion of the wall near the rounded top. His eyes, dark brown and rimmed with thick black lashes, flashed earnestly behind his glasses as they concentrated on his difficult job. His face, lean and tanned, was a mask of seriousness.
It was growing dark, but there was no danger of losing a road which was the only one in that part of the country. As they approached a clearing a short distance in front of them, they saw a dark mass in the centre of the road, its outlines indicating an emigrant wagon of the usual type. "There they are!" shouted Bill Braymer; "but where's sheriff? Good Lord! The shot must have hit him!"
Because he minded his own business and staid in the house when he heard shooting, he said. "Come on, boys!" shouted Bill Braymer, giving his panting horse a touch with his raw-hide whip; "perhaps, the sheriff's needin' help this minute. An' there's generally rewards when counterfeiters are captured mebbe sheriff'll give us a share." The whole quartet galloped rapidly off.
If I should get plugged, an' there's any money for the crowd, I'll count on you two to see that brother Jim gets my share he's got more the mother in him than all four of us other brothers, and why don't they shoot, do you s'pose?" "P'r'aps ther ain't nobody but the driver, an' he's got his hands full, makin' them hosses travel along that lively," suggested Bill Braymer.
"Reckon it did," said Pete Williamson, thrusting his head forward; "there's some kind of an animal hid behind that wagon, an' it don't enjoy bein' led along, for it's kickin' mighty lively shouldn't wonder if 'twas Mansell's own pony." "Hoss-thieves too, then?" inquired Braymer; "then mebbe there'll be two rewards!"
"They know too much about shootin' for me to foller 'em any more," remarked the third man, running rapidly out of the road and in the shadow caused by a tree. "They can't keep up that gait for ever," said Bill Braymer. "I'm goin' to foller 'em on foot, if it takes all night; I'll get even with em for that hoss they've done me out of."
"I ain't used to swearin' except on somethin' I can see," said he, "an' the bizness is only done in one way," with this he kissed the little hand in his own, and dashed out of the cabin with a very red face. Within ten minutes Jim met his brother and Braymer.
"No use, boys," said he, "might as well go back, There ain't no fears but what the sheriff'll be smart enough to do 'em yet, if he's alive, an' if he's dead we can't help him any." "If he's dead," remarked Bill Braymer, "an' there's any pay due him, I hope part of it'll come for these horses. Mine's dead, an' Pete's might as well be." "Well," said Jim, "I'll go on to town.
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