"You mean we are helpless?"
"Wal, not precisely; not while our grub and ammunition holds out. I
merely intimate thet this yere difficulty hes naturally got ter be
thrashed out with guns--good, honest fightin'--afore any courts will
git a chance even ter sit inter ther game. We ain't got no time jist
now ter fool with lawyers. Clubs is trumps this deal in Echo Canyon,
an' we 're goin' ter play a lone hand. Ther one thing what's botherin'
me is, how soon ther damned fracas is goin' ter begin. I reckon as how
them fellers is only waitin' fer reinforcements."
Winston sat motionless, looking at the two men, his mind rapidly
grasping the salient points of the situation. He was thoroughly
puzzled at their apparent indifference to its seriousness. He was
unused to this arbitrament of the rifle, and the odds against them
seemed heavy. Old Hicks easily comprehended the expression upon his
face, and solemnly stroked his goat-beard.
"Ain't used ter that sort o' thing, hey?" he asked at last, his
obstinate old eyes contracting into mere slits. "Reckon we're in a
sort o' pickle, don't ye? Wal, I don't know 'bout that. Yer see, me
an' Stutter have bin sort o' lookin' fer somethin' like this ter occur
fer a long time, an' we 've consequently got it figgered out ter a
purty fine p'int. When Farnham an' his crowd come moseying up yere,
they ain't goin' ter have it all their own way, let me tell yer,
pardner. Do yer see that straight face o' rock over yonder?" he rose
to his feet, pointing across his shoulder. "Wal, that 's got a front
o' thirty feet, an' slopes back 'bout as fur, with a shelf hangin' over
it like a roof. Best nat'ral fort ever I see, an' only one way o'
gittin' inter it, an' that the devil o' a crooked climb. Wal, we 've
stocked that place fer a siege with chuck an' ammunition, an' I reckon
four men kin 'bout hold it agin the whole county till hell freezes
over. It's in easy rifle shot o' both ther cabin an' ther shaft, an'
that Biff Farnham is mighty liable ter git another shock when he comes
traipsin' up yere fer ter wipe out ther 'Little Yankee.' Ol' Bill
Hicks ain't bin prospectin' fer thirty years, an' holdin' down claims
with a gun, without learnin' somethin' about ther business. I 'm ready
to buck this yere Farnham at any game he wants ter play; damned if he
can't take his chice, law er rifles, an' I 'll give him a bellyful
either way."
No one spoke for a long while, the three men apparently occupied with
their own thoughts. To Winston it was a tragedy, picturesque, heroic,
the wild mountain setting furnishing a strange dignity. Brown finally
cleared his throat, preparing to speak, his great hand slowly rubbing
his chin.