He crouched and ran to Irwin's horse, flung himself to the saddle,
deliberately emptied his revolver at his foes, and put spurs to the
broncho. As he vanished into the hills Bob Farnum slowly sank to the
ground.
"I've got mine, Bellamy. Blamed if he ain't plumb bust my laig!"
The mine owner covered the two wounded outlaws, while his men disarmed
them. Then he walked across to his friend, laid down his rifle, and knelt
beside him.
"Did he get you bad, old man?"
"Bad enough so I reckon I'll have a doc look at it one of these days." Bob
grinned to keep down the pain.
Once more there came the sound of hoofs beating the trail of decomposed
granite. Bellamy looked up and grasped his rifle. A single rider loomed
out of the darkness and dragged his horse to a halt, a dozen yards from
the mine owner, in such a position that he was directly behind one of the
pack horses.
"Up with your hands!" ordered Bellamy on suspicion.
Two hands went swiftly up from beside the saddle. The moonlight gleamed on
something bright in the right hand. A flash rent the night. A jagged,
red-hot pain tore through the shoulder of Hal Yarnell. He fired wildly,
the shock having spoiled his aim.
The attacker laughed exultantly, mockingly, as he swung his horse about.
"A present from Black MacQueen," he jeered.
With that, he was gone again, taking the pack animal with him. He had had
the audacity to come back after his loot--and had got some of it, too.
One of the unwounded cowpunchers gave pursuit, but half an hour later he
returned ruefully.
"I lost him somehow--darned if I know how. I seen him before me one
minute; the next he was gone. Must 'a' known some trail that led off from
the road, I reckon."
Bellamy said nothing. He intended to take up the trail in person; but
first the wounded had to be looked to, a man dispatched for a doctor, and
things made safe against another possible but improbable attack. It was to
be a busy night; for he had on hand three wounded men, as well as two
prisoners who were sound. An examination showed him that neither of the
two wounded outlaws nor Farnum nor Yarnell were fatally shot. All were
hardy outdoors men, who had lived in the balsamic air of the hills; if
complications did not ensue, they would recover beyond question.
In this extremity Rosario was a first aid to the injured. She had betrayed
the bandits without the least compunction, because they had ignored the
oath of vengeance against the slayer of her son; but she nursed them all
impartially and skillfully until the doctor arrived, late next day.