midway between Red and Skinny, as Lanky was on the knoll and the range
was very far to allow effective shooting by these two.

Red saw him leave the chaparral and in his haste to reload jammed
the cartridge, and By-and-by swept on toward temporary safety, with
Red dancing in a paroxysm of rage, swelling his vocabulary with words
he had forgotten existed.

By-and-by, rising to his full height in the saddle, turned and
wiggled his fingers at the frenzied Red and made several other signs
that the cowboy was in the humor to appreciate to the fullest extent.
Then he turned and shook his rifle at the marksmen on the larger
knoll, whose best shots kicked up the dust fully fifty yards too
short. The pony was sweeping toward the reservation and friends only
fifteen miles away, and By-and-by knew that once among the mountains
he would be on equal footing at least with his enemies.

As he passed the rock behind which Buck lay sprawled on his face he uttered a
piercing whoop of triumph and leaned forward on his pony's neck.
Twenty leaps farther and the spiteful crack of a rifle echoed from
where the foreman was painfully supporting himself on his elbows. The
pony swept on in a spurt of nerve-racking speed, but alone. By-and-by
shrieked again and crashed heavily to the ground, where he rolled
inertly and then lay still. Men like Buck are dangerous until their
hearts have ceased to beat.



CHAPTER VI