Several curses told him that he had not missed, and he scooped up a
finger of peach juice. Shots thudded into the walls of his fort in an
unceasing stream, and, as it grew lighter, several whizzed through the
loopholes. He kept close to the earth and waited for the rush, and
when it came sent it back, minus two of its members.
As he reloaded his Colts a bullet passed through his shirt sleeve
and he promptly nailed the marksman. He looked out of a crack in the
rear wall and saw the top of an adjoining hill crowned with
spectators, all of whom were armed. Some time later he repulsed
another attack and heard a faint cheer from his friends on the hill.
Then he saw a barrel, blazing from end to end, roll out from the place
he had so carefully covered with mounds. It gathered speed and bounded
over the rough ground, flashed between two rocks and leaped into the
trench, where it crackled and roared in vain.
"Now," said Hopalong, blazing at the mounds as fast as he could fire
his rifle, "we'll just see what yu thinks of yore nice little covers."
Yells of consternation and pain rang out in a swelling chorus, and
legs and arms jerked and flopped, one man, in his astonishment at the
shot that tore open his cheek, sitting up in plain sight of the
marksman. Roars of rage floated up from the main body of the
besiegers, and the discomfited remnant of barrel-rollers broke for
real cover.
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