"Watch for 'em sneakin' up on us through the rocks. Watch for 'em close,
lads. It ain't goin' to be a rush."
Once more the sibilant murmur ran down the line, and the voice of Sliver
Waldron brought it faintly to a period.
"Three of 'em," continued the sheriff, "and most likely they'll come at us
three ways."
Through the shadow Vic watched the lips of Glass work and caught the end of
his soft murmur to himself : ". . . . all three!"
He understood; the sheriff had offered up a deep prayer that all three
might fall by his gun.
Up from the farther end of the line the whisper ran lightly, swiftly, with
a stammer of haste in it: "To the right!"
Ay, there to the right, gliding from the corner of the house, went a dark
form, and then another, and disappeared among the rocks. They had offered
not enough target for even chance shooting.
"Hold for close range" ordered the sheriff, and the order was repeated.
However much he might wish to win all the glory of the fray, the sheriff
took no chances--threw none of his odds away. He was a methodical man.
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