d by a
dull instrument, a jagged hole appeared in the felt of the hat.

As instantly, eight rifles on the bank began to play. The crackling of
their reports was like infantry, the sliding click of the ejecting
mechanism as continuous and regular as the stamp-stamp of many presses.
The smoke rose over their heads in a blue cloud. Far out on the river,
under impact of the bullets, splinters of the rotted driftwood leaped
high into the air. Now and then the open water in front splashed into
spray as a ball went amiss. Not until the rifle magazines were empty did
they cease, and then only to reload. Again and once again they repeated
the onslaught, until it would seem no object the size of a human being
upon the place where they aimed could by any possibility remain alive.
Then, and not until then, did silence return, did the dummy upon
Stetson's rifle again raise its head.

But this time there was no response. They waited a minute, two
minutes--tried the ruse again, and it was as before. Had they really hit
the man out there, as they hoped, or was he, conscious of a trick,
merely lying low? Who could tell? The uncertainty, the inaction, goaded
all that was reckless in cowboy Buck's nature, and he sprang to his
feet.

"I'm going out there if I have to walk on the bottom of the river!" he
blazed.

Instantly Stetson's hands were on his legs, pulling him, prostrate.

"Down, you fool!" he growled. "At the bottom of the river is where you'd
be quick enough." The speaker turned to the others. "One of us is done
for already. There's no use for the rest to risk our lives without a
show. We've either potted Blair or we haven't. There's nothing more to
be done now, anyway. We may as well go back."

For a moment there was a murmur of dissent, but it was short-lived. One
and all realized that what the rancher said was true. For the present at
least, nature was against them, on the side of the outlaw; and to combat
nature was useless. Another time--yes, there would surely be another
time; and grim faces grew grimmer at the thought. Another time it would
be different.

"Yes, we may as well go." It was Mick Kennedy who spoke. "We can't stay
here long, that's sure." He tossed his rifle over to Stetson. "Carry
that, will you?" and rising, regardless of danger, he walked over to
cowboy Pete, took the dead body in his arms, without a glance behind
him, stalked back to where the horses were waiting, laid his burden
almost tenderly acr