fallen chestnut. Other Stetsons, too, had turned, and answering
bullets began to whistle to the enemy, but they were widely
separated and ignorant of one another's position, and the Lewallens
drove them one by one to new hiding-places, scattering them more.
To his right Rome saw Steve Marcum speed like a shadow up
through a little open space, but he feared to move, for several
Lewallens had recognized him, and were watching him alone. He
could not even fire; at the least exposure there was a chorus of
bullets about his ears. In a moment they began to come obliquely
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 desccnt 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