road,
Jack"--"Blang!"--"we air too close together, so's they cain't hit us so
easy."--"_Blang!_" "_Blang!_"--"Keep it a-goin', boy, ye'll git used ter
ther ways o' the mountain yet"--"_Blang!_"--"Ther durn fool!" ejaculated
Peter, grunting loudly.

"What's the matter?" asked Wade.

"The tip end o' one o' my fingers is gone clear as a whistle, that's
what ther matter is, boy. Give it to 'em, now,--thar they air, but they
hain't a-coming so fast. Think we must hit somebody that time. What air
they now? I don't see 'em anymore."

"Neither do I. They have given up, Peter, as sure as you live; they've
quit the fight. Somebody got a bullet."

"Don't be too shore, boy; they must be foolin' us and' goin' 'round to
head us off. I've been through mor'n a dozen sich fights as this,--got
two bullet holes in one leg at ther same scrap,--but they hain't got old
Peter yet. I guess it's all over for this time, Wade. Follow me now,
quick. I'm goin' ter give 'em the slip. We'll go clean 'round that hill
yonder, an' they won't know whatever become of us, ef they do try to
out-trick us."

After skirting the hill in silence, old Peter began again: "That was one
good short fight, boy, an' I declare ye air a putty good stayer. Ye kin
pull ther trigger 'bout as fast as any Kentuckian as ever fit with me,
lessen hit was Rube Willers. I remember one time years ago when I was
on t'other side o' ther mountain, when Bill Tulliver's outfit was agin
me an' Rube Willers. 'Course we had friends, an' so did they, but Rube
could outshoot any feller what ever come into the mountains, an' I seed
him put 'bout five holes through Bill Tulliver afore he hit ther ground.
But Bill come near a-gittin' him, shore; he put a hole in Rube's
shoulder, an' ef hit'd 'a' been one inch t'other way Rube'd never 'a'
had time ter git anybody after that, he'd never 'a' had time to a-told
what struck him. These old mountaineers know how to use ther
shootin'-irons, that's shore. But I forgot to ax ye ef ye got hit, did
ye?"

"No, I'm safe this time."

"Ye talk like ye mout git a ball some other time, an' ye had better look
sharp all the time now. Al Thompson is a lion, but we made him git
ter-night, I believe. Don't ye think we've slipped them?"

Jack did.

The gray streaks of dawn were appearing in the eastern horizon and there
would likely be no more fighting. Judson and Wade were not far from home
now. Being tired and sore, they rode on in silence. Jack Wade was