iquely from each
side-the Lewallens were getting around him. In a moment more death was
sure there, and once again he darted up the mountain. The bullets sang
after him like maddened bees. He felt one cut his hat and another sting
his left arm, but he raced up, up, till the firing grew fainter as he
climbed, and ceased an instant altogether. Then, still farther below,
came a sudden crash of reports. Stetsons were pursuing the men who were
after him, but he could not join them. The Lewallens were scattered
everywhere between him and his own man, and a descent might lead him to
the muzzle of an enemy's Winchester. So he climbed over a ledge of rock
and lay there, peeping through a crevice between two bowlders, gaining
his breath. The firing was far below him now, and was sharp. Evidently
his pursuers were too busy defending themselves to think further of him,
and he began to plan how he should get back to his friends. But he kept
hidden, and, searching the cliffs below him for a sheltered descent, he
saw something like a slouched hat just over a log, scarcely fifty feet
below him. Presently the hat was lifted a few inches; a figure rose
cautiously and climbed toward the ledge, shielding itself behind rock
and tree. Very quietly Rome crawled back to the face of the cliff behind
him, and crouched behind a rock with his cocked rifle across his knees.
The man must climb over the ledge; there would be a bare, level floor
of rock between them-the Lewallen would be at his mercy--and Rome, with
straining eyes, waited. There was a footfall on the other side of the
ledge; a soft clink of metal against stone. The Lewallen was climbing
slowly-slowly. Rome could hear his heavy breathing. A grimy hand slipped
over the sharp comb of the ledge; another appeared, clinched about a
Winchester--then the slouched hat, and under it the dark, crafty face of
young Jasper. Rome sat like the stone before him, with a half-smile on
his lips. Jasper peered about with the sly caution of a fox, and his
face grew puzzled and chagrined as he looked at the cliffs above him.
"Stop thar!"
He was drawing himself over the ledge, and the low, stern voice startled
him, as a knife might have done, thrust suddenly from the empty air at
his breast. Rome rose upright against the cliff, with his resolute face
against the stock of a Winchester.
"Drap that gun!"
The order was given along Stetson's barrel, and the weapon was dropped,
the steel ringing on the st
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