Get up on yore
Clarinda an' hold th' fort for me," he ordered, pushing the farther
horse over to his friend. Mr. Connors proved that an agile man can
mount a restless horse and not lose the drop, and backed off three
hundred yards, deftly substituting his Winchester for the Colts. Then
Mr. Cassidy likewise mounted with his attention riveted elsewhere and
backed off to the side of his companion.
The bombardment commenced again from the corral, but this time Mr.
Connors' rifle slid around in his lap and exploded twice. The
bellicose gentleman of the corral yelled in pain and surprise and
vanished.
"Purty good for a Winchester," said Mr. Cassidy in doubtful
congratulation.
"That's why I got him," snapped Mr. Connors in brief reply, and then
he laughed. "Is them th' vigilantes what never let a man get away?" He
scornfully asked, backing down the street and patting his Winchester.
"Well, Red, they wasn't all there. They was only twelve all told,"
excused Mr. Cassidy. "An' then we was two," he explained, as he wished
the collection of six-shooters was on Mr. Connors' horse so they
wouldn't bark his shin.
"An we still are," corrected Mr. Connors, as they wheeled and
galloped for Alkaline.
As the sun sank low on the horizon Mr. Peters finished ordering
provisions at the general store, the only one Alkaline boasted, and
sauntered to the saloon where he had left his men.
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