DISCOVERIES
When the two foremen entered the firing line again they saw Red
Connors and they cautiously went towards him. As they came within
twenty feet of him Buck chanced to glance across the cut and what he
saw brought a sudden smile to his face.
"Meeker, Red has got that spring under his gun!" he exclaimed in a low
voice. "They can't get within ten feet of it or within ten feet of th'
water at any point along its course. This is too good to bungle--wait
for me," and he ran out of sight around a bend in the crevice, Meeker
staring across at the spring, his eyes following the rivulet until it
flowed into the deep, narrow cut it had worn in the side of the mesa.
Red looked around. "Why, hullo, Meeker! Where's Buck? Thought I heard
him a minute ago. If you have got any water to spare I can use some of
it good. Some thief drilled my canteen when I went fooling along this
barranca, an' I ain't got a drop left."
Meeker began to move closer to him, Red warning him to be careful, and
adding, "Three of them fellers ain't doing nothing but watch this
cut. Scared we'll get across it an' flank 'em, I reckon."
"Do you know that yo're covering their water supply?" Meeker asked,
handing his canteen to his thirsty companion. "They can't get to it as
long as you stay here. That's why they're after you so hard."
Red wiped his lips on his sleeve and sighed contentedly. "It's blamed
hot, but it's wet. But is that right? Am I keeping 'em thirsty?
Where's th' water?"
"Shore you are; it's right over there--see that little ditch?" Meeker
replied, pointing.
_Bing! Spat!_
The H2 foreman dropped his arm and grinned. "They're watching us purty
close, ain't they? Didn't miss me far, at that," showing his companion
a torn sleeve and a lead splotch on the rock behind him.
"Not a whole lot. Two of them fellers can shoot like blazes. Yo're
plumb lucky," Red responded. "If you'd showed more'n yore sleeve that
time they'd 'a hit you." He looked across the cut and puckered his
brow. "Well, if that's where their water is they don't get none. Mebby
we can force 'em out if we watches that spring right smart."
"Here comes Buck now, with Skinny."
"It's too good a card to lose, Skinny," the Bar-20 foreman was saying
as he approached. "You settle some place near here where you can pot
anybody that tries for a drink. Mebby this little trick wins th' game
for us--_quien sabe?_ Hullo, Red; where's yore side pardner?"
"Oh, he went prospecting along this barranca to see if he could get
across," Red replied. "He wants to get up on top of that ridge behind
th' shack. Says if he can do it th' fight won't last long. See how it
overlooks their layout?"
Buck looked and his eyes glistened. "An' he's right, too, like he is
generally. That's th' key, an' it lies between them an' th' spring.
Beats all how quick that feller can size up a hand. If he could play
poker as well as he can fight he could quit working for a living."
"Yes; yo're shore right," Red replied.
Several shots rang out from the breastwork and the bullets hummed past
them down the cut. A burst of derisive laughter replied fifty yards to
their right and a taunt followed it. More shots were fired and
answered by another laugh and taunt, inducing profanity from the
marksman, and then Hopalong called to Red. "Six out of seven went
plumb through my sombrero, Red, when I poked it out to find if they
was looking. They was. Purty good for 'em, eh?"
"Too blamed good to suit me--lucky yore head wasn't in it," Red
replied.
Hopalong, singing in stentorian voice an original version of "Mary and
Her Little Lamb" in which it seemed he aspired to be the lamb, finally
came into view with a perforated sombrero in his hand, which he eyed
ruefully. "A good roof gone up, but I didn't reckon everybody was
looking my way," he grumbled. "Somebody shore has got to pay for that
lid, too," then he glanced up, saw Meeker, and looked foolish.
"Howd'y, Meeker; what's new, Buck?"
"Hey, Hoppy! Did you know I was covering their drinking water?" asked
Red, triumphantly.
"I knowed you was covering some of it, but you needn't take on no airs
about it, for you didn't know it," Hopalong retorted. "What I want to
know is why you wasn't covering _me_, like you said you would!" he
cried, eying Red's sombrero, which lay at his feet. "It's all yore
fault that my Stetson's bust wide open, an' that being so, we'll just
swap, right now, too!" suiting the action to the words.
"Hey! Gimme that war-bonnet, you bunch of gall!" yelled Red kicking at
his tormentor and missing. "Gimme that, d'y hear!"
"Give you a punch in th' eye, you sheep!" retorted Hopalong, backing
away. "Think you can get away with a play like that after saying you
was going to cover me? _I_ ain't no papoose, you animated carrot!"
"Gimme that Stetson!" Red commanded, starting to arise. There was a
sharp hum and he dropped back again, blood flowing from his cheek,
that being the extent of his person he had so inadvertently exposed.
"There, blank you! See what you made me do! Going to drop that hat?"
"Why don't you give 'em a good shot at you? That ain't no way to treat
'em--but honest, Red, you shouldn't get so excited over a little thing
like that," Hopalong replied. "Now, I'll leave it to Meeker,
here--hadn't I ought to take his roof?"
Meeker laughed. "Th' Court reserves its decision, but possession is
nine points in law."
"Huh! Possession is everything. Since I can keep it, why, then,
according to th' Court, th' hat belongs to me. Hear that, Red?"
"Yes, I hear it! An' if I wasn't so cussed busy I'd show you how long
you'd keep it," Red rejoined. "I'll bet you a hat you don't keep it a
day after we get this off'n our hands. Bow-legged Algernon, you!"
"Done--then I'll have two hats; one for work an' one to wear when I'm
visiting," Hopalong laughed. "But you've got th' best of th' swap,
anyhow. That new lid of yourn, holes an' all, is worth twice as much
as this wool thing I'm getting for it. My old one is a _hat!_"
Red refused to lower his dignity by replying and soon fired. "Huh!
Reckon that feller won't shoot no more with his right hand."
"Say, I near forgot to tell you Meeker captured one of them fellers
out back; got him tied up now," Buck remarked, relating the incident,
Meeker interrupting to give the Bar-20 foreman all the credit.
"Good!" exclaimed Red. "It's a rope necktie for him. An' one less to
shoot at me."
"An' _you_ here, Buck!" cried Hopalong in surprise. "Come on, lead th'
way! How do you know he was th' only one to get behind us! Good
Lord!"
"Gosh, yo're right!" Buck exclaimed, running off. "Come on, Jim. We're
a pair of fools, after all!"
At the other end of the line Chick Travers and George Cross did as
well as they could with their Colts, but found their efforts
unavailing. Their positions were marked by the rustlers and they had
several narrow escapes, both being wounded, Cross twice. Ten yards
west of them Frenchy McAllister was crawling forward a foot at a time
from cover to cover and so far he had not been hit. His position also
had been marked and he was now trying to find a new one unobserved,
where he could have a chance to shoot once without instantly being
fired upon. Pete and Johnny had separated, the latter having given up
his attempt to make the rustler pay for his wounded ear. He had
emptied the magazine of the rifle he had found and now only used his
Colt. As he worked along the firing line he saw Frenchy ten yards in
front of him, covered nicely by a steep rise in the ground.
"How are you doing out there, Frenchy?" he asked in a low voice.
"Not very good; wish I had my rifle," came the soft-spoken reply.
"I had one that I found, but I used up all th' cartridges there was in
th' magazine."
"What kind an' caliber?"
".45-70 Winchester. I found it by th' ropes. Pete says he reckoned
some rustler must have left it behind an' got away down th'--"
"Get it for me, Kid, will you?" interrupted Frenchy, eagerly. "I
plumb forgot to leave my belt of rifle cartridges back in th' camp.
Got it on now, an' it's chock full, too. Hurry up, an' I'll work back
to you for it."
"What luck! In a second," Johnny exulted, disappearing. Returning with
the rifle he handed it to his friend and gazed longingly at the
beltful of rifle cartridges. "Say, Frenchy," he began. "You know we'll
all have our rifles to-night, an' you've got more cartridges for that
than you can use before then. It won't be more than three hours before
we send for ours. Suppose you gimme some of them for Pete--he's got
th' mate to that gun, an' can't use it no more because it's empty."
"Shore, Kid," and Frenchy slipped a handful of cartridges out of his
belt and gave them to Johnny. "With my compliments to Pete. What was
that you was saying about rustlers an' th' ropes?"
Johnny told of Pete's deductions regarding the finding of the rifles
and Frenchy agreed with them, and also that Doc had taken care of the
owners of the weapons when they had reached the plain.
"Well, I'm going further away from them thieves now that I've got
something to shoot with," Frenchy asserted. "They won't be looking for
any of us a hundred yards or more farther back. Mebbe I can catch some
of 'em unawares."
"I'll chase off an' give Pete these pills," Johnny replied. "He'll be
tickled plumb to death. He was cussing bad when I left him."
George Cross, crawling along a steep, smooth rock barely under the
shelter of a bowlder, endeavored to grasp the top, but under-reached
and slipped, rolling down to the bottom and in plain sight of the
rustlers. As his companion, Chick Travers, tried to help him two shots
rang out and Cross, sitting up with his hands to his head, toppled
back to arise no more. Chick leaped up and fired twice at one of the
marksmen, and missed. His actions had been so sudden and unexpected
that he escaped the return shot which passed over him by a foot as he
dropped back to cover. Somehow the whole line seemed to feel that
there had been a death among them, as evidenced by the burst of firing
along it. And the whole line felt another thing; that the cartridges
of the rustlers were getting low, for they seemed to be saving their
shots. But it was Hopalong who found the cause of the diminishing
fire. After hunting fruitlessly with the two foremen and finding that
Hall was the only man to get back of the firing line he left his two
companions in order to learn the condition of his friends. As he made
his way along the line he chanced to look towards the hut and saw four
rifles on the floor of it, and back of them, piled against the wall,
was the rustlers' main supply of ammunition. Calling out, he was
answered by Pete, who soon joined him.
"Pete, you lucky devil, turn that rifle through th' door of th' shack
an' keep it on them cartridges," he ordered. "They ain't been shooting
as fast as they was at first, an' there's th' reason for it. Oh, just
wait till daylight to-morrow! They won't last long after that!"
"They won't get them cartridges, anyhow," Pete replied with
conviction.
"Hey, fellers," cried a voice, and they looked around to see Chick
Travers coming towards them. "Yore man Cross has passed. He rolled off
his ledge an' couldn't stop. They got him when he hit th' bottom of
it."
"D--n 'em!" growled Hopalong. "We'll square our accounts to-morrow
morning. Pete, you watch them cartridges."
"Shore--" _Bang!_ "Did you see that?" Pete asked, frantically pumping
the lever of his rifle.
"Yes!" cried Chick. "Some feller tried to get in that south window!
Bet he won't try again after that hint. Hear him cuss? There--Red must
'a fired then, too!"
"Good boy, Pete!--keep 'em out. We'll have somebody in there after
dark," Hopalong responded. "They've got th' best covers now, but we'll
turn th' table on 'em when th' sun comes up to-morrow."
"Here comes Buck an' Meeker," remarked Chick. "Them two are getting a
whole lot chummy lately, all right. They're allus together."
"That's good, too. They're both of 'em all right," Hopalong replied,
running to meet them. Chick saw the three engage in a consultation and
look towards the hut and the ridge behind it, Buck and Meeker nodding
slowly at what Hopalong was saying. Then they moved off towards the
west where they could examine the building at closer range.