H. Bedford-Jones

“ To the north the great splotch of smoke had lessened into a thin trail; Harper's place was burned out. It could not be long now before Fisher would come—if he came at all.
"Hey, Buck!" rose the cautious voice of Davitt. "Rider from the north!"
"Comin'," responded Buck hastily, and ran to join his men.
The north trail was nearly hidden from them, but they could make out a trail of dust, and presently the swiftly moving object which had drawn the attention of Davitt. As this object came closer Davitt uttered an impatient exclamation.
"Ain't no rider at all! By gosh, it's a hoss!" ”

“ Both Davitt and Buck crouched low, peering forward, waiting for the dust to settle. It seemed impossible that Fisher could have gone down in that awful welter of death and yet have remained alive; but he was not dead. The shot had shown that.
Little-by little the dust subsided. Arnold's horse, its shoulder smashed by a bullet, raised a shaking head and emitted another frightful scream, then fell back. The other horse lay behind, kicking feebly, trying to grip the ground with its fore hoofs; the poor beast's back was broken. ”

“ Almost before she had gone, Davitt was out in the road, then swinging himself into a tree for a swifter view of the lower valley.
"They're comin' behind her," said Buck, his voice steady. "Now the only question is—who's a-comin'? If it's a hull blamed crowd, we got to lay low. If it's them two——"
"Hey, Buck!" Davitt came sliding down, plunged into the dust, sprang eagerly to his feet again. "Two comin'—no more that I can see. Likely they stopped to halt Harper's hoss, or try to, and the gal went on ahead. Them two'll be our meat; couldn't be ho others. ”