Hampton began to understand the purpose of his companion, the quick,
unerring instinct which had led him to select the one suitable spot
where the successful waging of battle against such odds was
possible--the deserted dump of the old Shasta mine.
With every nerve strained to the uttermost, the two men raced side by
side down the steep slope, ploughed through the tangled underbrush, and
toiled up the sharp ascent beyond. Already their pursuers were
crowding the more open spaces below, incited by that fierce craze for
swift vengeance which at times sweeps even the law-abiding off their
feet. Little better than brutes they came howling on, caring only in
this moment to strike and slay. The whole affair had been like a flash
of fire, neither pursuers nor pursued realizing the half of the story
in those first rapid seconds of breathless action. But back yonder lay
a dead man, and every instinct of the border demanded a victim in
return.
At the summit of the ore dump the two men flung themselves panting
down, for the first time able now to realize what it all meant. They
could perceive the figures of their pursuers among the shadows of the
bushes below, but these were not venturing out into the open--the first
mad, heedless rush had evidently ended.
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