Not
within forty rows of apple-trees. It's not Henry's gun, not Henry's
heels, not Henry's hair, and thereby, not Henry's head that was hit
that time. But it was to a finish--and blamed if at first it didn't
scare me. I thought it _might_ be Henry. Hang it, get down and see for
yourselves, boys."

Elpaso answered his invitation with an inquiry. "Who was this fellow
fighting with?"

"That, also, is a question. Certainly not with Henry de Spain, because
the other fellow, I think, was using soft-nosed bullets. No white man
does that, much less de Spain."

"Unless he used another rifle," suggested Kennedy.

"Tell me how they could get his own rifle away from him if he could
fire a gun at all. I don't put Henry quite as high with a rifle as
with a revolver--if you want to split hairs--mind, I say, if you want
to split hairs. But no man that's ever seen him handle either would
want to try to take any kind of a gun from him. Whoever it was,"
Lefever got up into his saddle again, "threw some ounces of lead into
that piece of rock back there, though I don't understand how any one
could see a man lying behind it.

"Anyway, whoever was hit here has been carried down the road. We'll
try Sassoon's ranch-house for news, if they don't open on us with
rifles before we get there."

In the sunshine a man in shirt sleeves, and leaning against the jamb,
stood in the open doorway of Sassoon's shack, watching the invaders
as they rode around the hill and gingerly approached. Lefever
recognized Satt Morgan. He flung a greeting to him from the saddle.

Satt answered in kind, but he eyed the horsemen with reserve when they
drew up, and he seemed to Lefever altogether less responsive than
usual. John sparred with him for information, and Satterlee gave back
words without any.

"Can't tell us anything about de Spain, eh?" echoed Lefever at length.
"All right, Satt, we'll find somebody that can. Is there a bridge over
to Duke's on this trail?"

Satt's nose wrinkled into his normal smile. "There is a bridge--" The
report of three shots fired in the distance, seemingly from the mouth
of the Gap, interrupted him. He paused in his utterance. There were no
further shots, and he resumed: "There is a bridge that way, yes, but
it was washed out last night. They're blockaded. Duke and Gale are
over there. They're pretty sore on your man de Spain. You'd better
keep away from 'em this morning unless you're looking for trouble."

Lefever, having