Mason's
answer was a sudden fusilade, which sent the crowd flying
helter-skelter into the underbrush. One among them staggered and half
fell, yet succeeded in dragging himself out of sight.
"Great Scott, if I don't believe I winged James!" the shooter remarked
cheerfully, reaching back into his pocket for more cartridges. "Maybe
them boys will be a bit more keerful if they once onderstand they 're
up agin the real thing. Well, perhaps I better skin down, fer I reckon
it's liable ter be rifles next."
It was rifles next, and the "winging" of Big Jim, however it may have
inspired caution, also developed fresh animosity in the hearts of his
followers, and brought forth evidences of discipline in their approach.
Peering across the sheltering dump pile, the besieged were able to
perceive the dark figures cautiously advancing through the protecting
brush; they spread out widely until their two flanks were close in
against the wall of rock, and then the deadly rifles began to spit
spitefully, the balls casting up the soft dirt in clouds or flattening
against the stones. The two men crouched lower, hugging their pile of
slag, unable to perceive even a stray assailant within range of their
ready revolvers.
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