Miguel spurred his big pinto in among them and emptied his gun. He rode
out at a lope, reloading. The front of his flannel shirt was shot away,
but he was not aware of it.
Billy Dime coolly sat his horse and "drew fine" at each shot, till a
leaden slug drilled his gun-arm. He swore profusely, and wisely spurred
out of range.
"I got one!" cried Miguel, swinging shut the cylinder of his gun. "I go
get another one."
"Give 'em my com-pli-ments," said Dime, winding a handkerchief round his
arm and knotting it with one hand and his teeth.
Williams, keeping under cover, fired slowly and with great precision.
Overland Red, utterly unable to manage the Yuma colt under fire, rode up
to Williams. "Let's call it off, Brand. I got my man. They was no need
of the rest of it. How did it start, anyhow?"
"That's about what the kid said when he let go the wagon on top of the
hill. I counted five Gophers down. Billy's hit, and Miguel's goin' to
be, the dam' little fool. Look at him!"
The Gophertown men were drawing away toward the canon. They turned
occasionally to throw a shot at Miguel and Pars Long, who followed them.
Bud Light sat his horse, gazing solemnly at the stump of his gun-finger.
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