He began to
climb the walls of the crevice, finding the ragged rock projections
admirably convenient for footing.
However, his progress was slow, for he had to be careful not to let his
head show above the edge of the rock that formed the fissure; and so he
was busily engaged for the greater part of half an hour before he
finally reached a position from which he thought he could get a glimpse
of the men on his side of the defile.
Meanwhile there had been no sound from the bottom, or the other side of
the defile, except an occasional report of a rifle, which told that
Dale's men were firing, or the somewhat more crashing report of a
pistol, which indicated that his own men were replying.
From where he crouched in the fissure, Sanderson could see some of the
horses at the bottom of the defile. They were grazing unconcernedly.
Scattered along the bottom of the defile were the men who had fallen at
the first fire, and Sanderson's eye glinted with rage when he looked at
them; for he recognized some of them as men of the outfit for whom he
had conceived a liking.
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