But Casey could never listen to argument when a fight was in
prospect. He filled a canteen, emptied a box of cartridges into
his pocket, stuck his old, Colt six-shooter inside his trousers
belt, and gave Barney some parting instruction under his breath.

Barney was to move camp down under the bank by the spring, and
dig himself in there, so that the only approach would be up the
narrow gulch. He would then wait until Casey returned.

"Somebody's after our outfit, most likely," Casey reasoned. "It
ain't the first time I've knowed it to happen. So you put the
hull outfit outa sight down there an' stand guard over it. If
we'd 'a' run when they opened up, they'd uh cleaned us out and
left us flat. They's two of us, an' we'll git 'em from two
sides."

He stuffed cold bannock into the pocket that did not hold the
cartridges and disappeared, climbing the side of the gulch
opposite the point which held their ambitious marksman.

To Barney's panicky expostulations he had given little heed. "If
yore vitals is as close to your hide as what you claim," Casey
had said impatiently, "an' you don't want any punctures in 'em,
git to work an' git that hide of yourn outa sight. It'll take
some diggin'; they's a lot of yuh to cover."

Barney, therefore, dug like a badger with a dog snuffing at its
tail. Casey, on the other hand, climbed laboriously in the
darkness a bluff he had not attempted to climb by daylight. It
was hard work and slow, for he felt the need of going quietly.