A howl of triumph and derision rose up from the rim of the bluff as the burly sheepman went down, but it changed to a sudden shout of warning as he scrambled back to his feet again. There was something indescribably vengeful about him as he whirled upon his enemy, and his hand went inside his torn shirt in a gesture not to be mistaken. [Illustration: Threw the sand full in his face] "Look out there, Rufe!" yelled Creede, leaping up from behind his rock pile. "Run! _Jump into the river_!" But instead Hardy grabbed up a handful of sand and ran in upon his adversary. The pistol stuck for a moment in its hidden sling and as Swope wrenched it loose and turned to shoot, Hardy made as if to close with him and then threw the sand full in his face. It was only an instant's respite but as the sheepman blinked and struck the dirt from his eyes the little cowman wheeled and made a dash for the river. "_Look out_!" screamed Creede, as the gun flashed out and came to a point, and like a bullfrog Hardy hurled himself far out into the eddying water. Then like the sudden voice of Nemesis, protesting against such treachery, a rifle shot rang out from the towering crags that overshadowed the river and Jasper Swope fell forward, dead. His pistol smashed against a rock and exploded, but the man he had set himself to kill was already buried beneath the turbid waters. So swiftly did it all happen that no two men saw the same--some were still gazing at the body of Jasper Swope; others were staring up at the high cliff whence the shot had come; but Jeff Creede had eyes only for the river and when he saw Hardy's head bob up, halfway to the whirlpool, and duck again to escape the bullets, he leapt up and ran for his horse. Then Bill Johnson's rifle rang out again from the summit of his high cliff, and every man scrambled for cover. A Mexican herder dropped his gun suddenly and slipped down behind a rock; and his _compadres_, not knowing from whence the hostile fire came, pushed out their carbines and began to shoot wildly; the deep canyon reverberated to the rattle of thirty-thirtys and the steady _crack_, _crack_ of the rifle above threw the sheep camp into confusion. There was a shout as Creede dashed recklessly out into the open and the sand leapt up in showers behind him, but Bat Wings was running like the wind and the bullets went wide of their mark.