lumb up
to my neck. Come on now; keep them things dry, an' don't bother 'bout
me."

He plunged in, and Westcott followed, both cartridge belts held above
his head. There was a crackling of bushes on the bank behind them,
showing their pursuers had crossed the road and were already beating up
the brush. Neither man glanced back, assured that those fellows would
hunt them first in the chaparral, cautiously beating the coverts,
before venturing beyond.

The water deepened rapidly, and Westcott was soon to his waist, leaning
to his right to keep his feet; he heard the marshal splashing along
behind, convinced by his ceaseless profanity that he also made progress
in spite of his shortness of limbs. Indeed they attained the rock
shelter almost together, creeping up through a narrow crevasse, leaving
a wet trail along the grey stone. This was accomplished none too soon,
a yell from the bank telling of their discovery, followed by the crack
of a gun. The marshal, who was still exposed, hastily crept under
cover, wiping a drop of blood from his cheek where a splinter of rock
dislodged by the bullet had slashed the flesh. He was, nevertheless,
in excellent humour, his keen grey eyes laughing, as he peered out over
the rock rampart.

"If they keep up shootin' like that, Jim, I reckon our insurance won't
be high," he said, "I'm plumb ashamed of the camp, the way them boys
waste lead. Must 'a' took twenty shots at us so far an' only skinned
me with a rock. Hell! 'tain't even interestin'. Hand over them
cartridges; let's see what sorter stock we got."

CHAPTER XXII: THE ROCK IN THE STREAM

Westcott was sensible now of a feeling of intense exhaustion. The
fierce fighting in the room behind the saloon; the excitement of the
attempt to escape; the chase, ending with the plunge through the stream
had left him pitifully weak. He could perceive his hand tremble as he
handed over the cartridge belt. The marshal noticed it also, and cast
a swift glance into the other's face.

"About all in, Jim?" he inquired understandingly. "Little out of your
usual line, I reckon. Take a bit o' rest thar, an' ye'll be all right.
It's safe 'nough fer the present whar we are, fer as thet bunch o'
chicken thieves is concerned. Yer wa'n't hurt, or nuthin', durin' the
scrap?"

"No more than a few bruises, but it an happened so quickly I haven't
any breath left. I'll be all right in a minute. How are we fixed for
ammunition?"