Ellen saw his face as a gray blur, then taking sharper outline, until it stood out distinctly, pale and clammy, with eyes cold and wonderful in their intense flare. As she gazed upward Colter turned his head to look back through the woods, and his motion betrayed a keen, wild vigilance. The veins of his lean, brown neck stood out like whipcords.
Two comrades were stalking beside him. Ellen heard their stealthy steps, and she felt Colter sheer from one side or the other. They were proceeding cautiously, fearful of the rear, but not wholly trusting to the fore.
"Reckon we'd better go slow an' look before we leap," said one whose voice Ellen recognized as Springer's.
"Shore. That open slope ain't to my likin', with our Nez Perce friend prowlin' round," drawled Colter, as he set Ellen down on her feet.
Another of the rustlers laughed. "Say, can't he twinkle through the forest? I had four shots at him. Harder to hit than a turkey runnin' crossways."
This facetious speaker was the evil-visaged, sardonic Somers.
He carried two rifles and wore two belts of cartridges.
"Ellen, shore y'u ain't so daid white as y'u was," observed Colter, and he chucked her under the chin with familiar hand. "Set down heah.
I don't want y'u stoppin' any bullets. An' there's no tellin'."
Ellen was glad to comply with his wish. She had begun to recover wits and strength, yet she still felt shaky. She observed that their position then was on the edge of a well-wooded slope from which she could see the grassy canyon floor below. They were on a level bench, projecting out from the main canyon wall that loomed gray and rugged and pine fringed.
Somers and Cotter and Springer gave careful attention to all points of the compass, especially in the direction from which they had come.
They evidently anticipated being trailed or circled or headed off, but did not manifest much concern. Somers lit a cigarette; Springer wiped his face with a grimy hand and counted the shells in his belt, which appeared to be half empty. Colter stretched his long neck like a vulture and peered down the slope and through the aisles of the forest up toward the canyon rim.
"Listen!" he said, tersely, and bent his head a little to one side, ear to the slight breeze.
They all listened. Ellen heard the beating of her heart, the rustle of leaves, the tapping of a woodpecker, and faint, remote sounds that she could not name.
"Deer, I reckon," spoke up Somers.
"Ahuh! Wal, I reckon they ain't trailin' us yet," replied Colter.
"We gave them a shade better 'n they sent us."
"Short an' sweet!" ejaculated Springer, and he removed his black sombrero to poke a dirty forefinger through a buffet hole in the crown.
"Thet's how close I come to cashin'. I was lyin' behind a log, listenin' an' watchin', an' when I stuck my head up a little--zam!
Somebody made my bonnet leak."
"Where's Queen?" asked Colter.
"He was with me fust off," replied Somers. "An' then when the shootin' slacked--after I'd plugged thet big, red-faced, white-haired pal of Isbel's--"
"Reckon thet was Blaisdell," interrupted Springer.
"Queen--he got tired layin' low," went on Somers. "He wanted action.
I heerd him chewin' to himself, an' when I asked him what was eatin' him he up an' growled he was goin' to quit this Injun fightin'.
An' he slipped off in the woods."
"Wal, that's the gun fighter of it," declared Colter, wagging his head, "Ever since that cowman, Blue, braced us an' said he was King Fisher, why Queen has been sulkier an' sulkier. He cain't help it. He'll do the same trick as Blue tried. An' shore he'll get his everlastin'.
But he's the Texas breed all right."
"Say, do you reckon Blue really is King Fisher?" queried Somers.
"Naw!" ejaculated Colter, with downward sweep of his hand. "Many a would-be gun slinger has borrowed Fisher's name. But Fisher is daid these many years."
"Ahuh! Wal, mebbe, but don't you fergit it--thet Blue was no would-be," declared Somers. "He was the genuine article."
"I should smile!" affirmed Springer.
The subject irritated Colter, and he dismissed it with another forcible gesture and a counter question.
"How many left in that Isbel outfit?"
"No tellin'. There shore was enough of them," replied Somers. "Anyhow, the woods was full of flyin' bullets. . . . Springer, did you account for any of them?"
"Nope--not thet I noticed," responded Springer, dryly. "I had my chance at the half-breed. . . . Reckon I was nervous."
"Was Slater near you when he yelled out?"
"No. He was lyin' beside Somers."
"Wasn't thet a queer way fer a man to act?" broke in Somers. "A bullet hit Slater, cut him down the back as he was lyin' flat. Reckon it wasn't bad. But it hurt him so thet he jumped right up an' staggered around.
He made a target big as a tree. An' mebbe them Isbels didn't riddle him!"
"That was when I got my crack at Bill Isbel," declared Colter, with grim satisfaction. "When they shot my horse out from under me I had Ellen to think of an' couldn't get my rifle. Shore had to run, as yu seen. Wal, as I only had my six-shooter, there was nothin' for me to do but lay low an' listen to the sping of lead. Wells was standin' up behind a tree about thirty yards off. He got plugged, an' fallin' over he began to crawl my way, still holdin' to his rifle. I crawled along the log to meet him. But he dropped aboot half-way. I went on an' took his rifle an' belt. When I peeped out from behind a spruce bush then I seen Bill Isbel. He was shootin' fast, an' all of them was shootin' fast. That war, when they had the open shot at Slater. . . . Wal, I bored Bill Isbel right through his middle. He dropped his rifle an', all bent double, he fooled around in a circle till he flopped over the Rim. I reckon he's layin' right up there somewhere below that daid spruce. I'd shore like to see him."
"I Wal, you'd be as crazy as Oueen if you tried thet, declared Somers.
"We're not out of the woods yet."
"I reckon not," replied Colter. "An' I've lost my horse. Where'd y'u leave yours?"
