"Nothin' to shoot at, boy," he said, in exasperation.
"Wait. Listen to that bunch of Irish shoot. They're wasting powder."
"We've plenty of ammunition. Let 'em shoot. They may not hit any
redskins, but they'll scare 'em."
"We can hold out here--if the troopers hurry back," said Neale.
"Sure. But maybe they're hard at it, too. I've no hope this is the
same bunch of Sioux that held up the work-train."
"Neither have I. And if the troops don't get here before dark--"
Neale halted, and Baxter shook his gray head.
"That would be bad," he said. "But we've squeezed out of narrow
places before, buildin' this U. P. R."
Neale found the women in the large room, between the corner of the
walls and a huge stone fireplace. They were quiet. Allie leaped at
sight of Neale. Her hands trembled as she grasped him.
"Neale!" she whispered. "I saw Fresno!"
"Who's he?" queried Neale, blankly.
"He's one of Durade's gang."
"No!" exclaimed Neale. He drew Allie aside. "You're scared."
"I'd never forget Fresno," she replied, positively. "He was one of
the four ruffians who burned Slingerland's cabin and made off with
me."
Then Neale shook with a violent start. He grasped Allie tight.
"I saw him, too. Just before I came in. I saw one of the men that
visited us at Slingerland's.
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