He had heard several reports while dismounting and ascending the hill,
and by the time he looked over the crest he saw that the battle was
over. He saw the three men grouped about a cluster of rocks on a hill
not more than a hundred yards distant. Two of the men were bending
over the third, who was stretched out on his back, motionless. It
appeared to Sanderson that the two men were searching the pockets of
the other, for they were fumbling at the other's clothing and,
seemingly, putting something into their own pockets.
Sanderson scowled. Now that the fight was over, he was at liberty to
investigate; the ethics of life in the country did not forbid
that--though many men had found it as dangerous as interference.
Sanderson stood up, within full view of the two men, and hailed them.
"What's bitin' you guys?" he said.
The two men wheeled, facing Sanderson. The latter's answer came in the
shape of a rifle bullet, the weapon fired from the hip of one of the
men--a snapshot.
Sanderson had observed the movement almost as soon as it had begun, and
he threw himself head-long behind the shelter of the rock at his side
as the bullet droned over his head.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25