d
jump. The demijohn jerked in his hand but seemed intact. The bullet,
smashing through the wickerwork, had shattered the container but the
tough willow twigs preserved the shape. Two more shots and there was a
tinkle of broken glass. The last bullet had clipped the neck. It was too
close shooting for the sockless one and the whisky was dripping fast
through the weave, bringing a reek of crude liquor to Sam's twitching
nostrils. The claim-jumper dropped what was left of his burden and went
hopping on, acquiring stone bruises with every leap.

"Scattered like a bunch of coyotes," said Sam.

"Sure did," agreed Sandy. "Minute they stahted talkin', 'stead of
shootin', I knew they was ready to stampede. They'll beat it to Plimsoll
an' we'll see jest how much sand he's got in his craw."

"Not enough to keep him from skiddin' on a downgrade," said Mormon.
"Sandy, that's cruelty to animals, sendin' that hombre off 'thout his
boots after you took away his licker. I've got tender feet myse'f as
well as a soft heart. Help me with this tent a minute, Sam."

Together they raised the fallen canvas enough to discover the boots,
which Mormon hurled down-hill after the limping one, who was far in the
rear of his companions. He turned at Mormon's shout and he stopped,
fearful at the act of kindness, crawled up the slope and retrieved his
footwear, pulled them on and scurried off.

A distant shout reached them from the other side of the gulch. By
position, rather than actual recognition, Sandy guessed the figure that
of Westlake. The firing must have sounded only a little louder than
cork poppings, but evidently the engineer had sized up the retreating
men and the collapsed tent. Sandy waved to him in assurance that all was
well and the other waved back in understanding.

"Think Plim'll show?" asked Sam.

"Got to--or quit," said Sandy. "That bunch of jumpers he got together'll
spill the beans unless he makes some play. It's plumb evident he wants
these partickler claims. I don't believe he's hirin' men just to make us
peevish. 'Sides, he didn't know fo' sure we were comin'. Might have
figgered we'd trail the news of the rush, but I'll bet a sack of Durham
against a pinch o' dirt that he's fairly sure that old man Patrick Casey
picked him some first-class locations. We got one card that'll upset him
considerable, my bein' the legal guardeen of Molly."

"A heap he cares fo' legal or not legal," said Sam.

"That's jest what he _wil