The distance didn't permit of gun-play; and, hot as I was, I had the
sense to know that those men weren't responsible for my troubles; I
didn't want to kill them, if I could help it--what I desired above all
else was to get away, and burn powder with Hicks, Gregory and Co., if
powder-burning was to be on the programme. They did try to pull their
guns, but I was too close. I spoiled their good intentions by kicking
one with all the force I could muster, and throwing my arms in a fervent
embrace about the neck of the other.
A number eight box-toed riding-boot planted suddenly in the pit of one's
stomach brings about the same result as a kick from a vigorous Missouri
mule, I should imagine; anyway, that Mounted Policeman was eliminated as
a fighting unit from the instant my toe made connections with his
person. The other fellow and I went to the ground, and our struggle was
of short duration, for Mac bought into the ruction with his carbine for
a club, and under its soothing touch my wiry antagonist ceased from
troubling. I scrambled to my feet and glanced around. The corporal was
sprawled on the grass, his face to the sky.
"We've burned our bridges now, sure as fate," Mac broke out. "Here,
I'll peel the guns off the bunch, and you lead their horses up to the
rock out of sight of these other fellows.
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