“Norton ought to have been back with Bothwell and the bunch, now.” “He’s an hour overdue,” said Taylor, without looking at Bud. “I reckon somethin’s happened,” growled Bud. “Somethin’ always happens when a guy’s holed up, like this. It wouldn’t be so bad if a man could eat a little somethin’—to sort of keep him from thinkin’ of it all the time. Or, mebbe, if there was a little excitement—or somethin’. A man could——” “There’ll be plenty of excitement before long,” interrupted Taylor. “Keats and his gang didn’t go very far. I just saw one of them sneaking along that rock-knob, down the gorge a piece. They’re going to stalk us. If you’re thinking of riding to Kelso—why—” He grinned at Bud’s resentful scowl. Lying flat on his stomach, he watched the rock-knob he had mentioned. “Slick as an Indian,” he remarked once, while Bud, having ceased his discontented mutterings, kept his gaze on the rock also. And then suddenly the eery silence of the gorge was broken by the sharp crack of Taylor’s rifle, and, simultaneously, by a shriek of pain. Report and shriek reverberated with weird, echoing cadences between the hills, growing less distinct always and finally the eery silence reigned again. “They’ll know they can’t get careless, now,” grinned Taylor, working the ejector of his rifle. Bud did not reply; and for another hour both men intently scanned the hills within range of their vision, straining their eyes to detect signs of movement that would warn them of the whereabouts of Keats and his men. Anxiously Bud watched the rays of the sun creeping up a precipitous rock wall at a little distance. Slowly the streak of light narrowed, growing always less brilliant, and finally, when it vanished, Bud spoke: “It’s comin’ on night, Squint. Somethin’s sure happened to Norton.” He wriggled impatiently, adding: “If we’re here when night comes we’ll have a picnic keepin’ them guys off of us.” Taylor said nothing until the gorge began to darken with the shadows of twilight. Then he looked at Bud, his face grim. “My stubbornness,” he said shortly. “I should have taken your advice about going to Kelso Basin—when we had a chance. But I felt certain that Norton would have the outfit here before this. Our chance is gone, now. There are some of Keats’s men in the hills, around us. I just saw one jump behind that rim rock on the shoulder of that big hill—there.” He indicated the spot. Then he again spoke to Bud. “There’s a chance yet—for you. You take Spotted Tail and make a run for the basin. I’ll cover you.” “What about you?” grumbled Bud. Taylor grinned, and Bud laughed. “You was only funnin’ me, I reckon,” he said, earnestly. “You knowed I wouldn’t slope an’ leave you to fight it out alone—now didn’t you?” “But if a man was hungry,” said Taylor, “and he knew there was grub with the outfit——” “I ain’t hungry no more,” declared Bud; “I’ve quit thinkin’ of flapjacks for more than——”