The Tenderfoots by Francis Lynde

FAIRLY benumbed by the shock of the discovery that a battle for the possession of the "Little Jean" was actually in progress, Philip pointed to the right up a steep ravine.

"We can c-cross at the head of this draw," he stammered, and it made him furious to find that he could not better control his voice.

"Let's be moggin' along, then," said the man of action, immediately setting a pace up the wooded ravine that left Philip a stumbling straggler at his heels. "They've got that pardner o' yourn holed up somewheres -- in yer cabin, most likely. Reckon he's got sand enough to hang on?"

"Harry? -- he -- he'll hang on till they kill him! " Philip panted.

"What-all's he got for fightin' tools?"

"Two Winchesters."

"Good a-plenty. How much furder do we keep to this here draw?"

"Another hundred yards or so; then bear sharp to the left."

Following directions, the big man presently turned short into the ravine-side forest and began to climb, pulling himself from tree to tree up the steep acclivity with an agility that seemed to take no account of his great size and weight. Breathlessly Philip struggled after him, marvelling at the reserves of energy Garth was able to draw upon after a long day and night of steady tramping and mountain climbing. For himself, he was nearly at the collapsing point when they reached the easier going on the summit of the spur. As they pressed on, the spattering crackle of rifle fire came intermittently from the gulch, and at each fresh outblaze he started nervously and quickened his pace.

"For God's sake, hurry! " he gasped. "They'll murder Harry before we get there -- if they haven't already done it!"

But Garth read the story of the ragged firing with shrewder intelligence.

"That there powder-burnin's a good sign," he commented calmly. "Hit shows they ain't got him yet, and ain't rushin' him. Keep me steered right. You know the lay o' the land, and I don't."

"To your left again, now," Philip directed. "There's a little side gully along here somewhere. if we can find it in the dark -- -- "

As capably as if the darkness were interposing no obstacle, Garth found the head of the dry arroyo and the descent into the gulch of the mine was begun.

"Right careful, now," he cautioned; "no slippin' 'r slidin' to make a fuss! Got to work Injun medicine on that crowd."

Silently, the snow serving to deaden their footfalls, they worked their way to the gulch bottom and along its windings until Philip whispered: "Around the next turn ahead. if there's light enough, you'll see our dump and the cabin."

"Kee-rect," Garth mumbled. "Stick to the shadders and keep that old hoss-pistol handy. Yuh ain't no ways back'ard about aimin' it straight, are yuh?"

"No," said Philip; but he was promising for the intention rather than for the ability. He was trembling like a leaf in the wind. It was one thing to go into battle on the crest of a wave of berserker rage, and quite another to face the hazards deliberately and in cold blood.

With caution redoubled they turned the last of the jutting promontories obstructing a view of the lower reaches of the gulch. The young moon had long since dropped behind the western ranges, but the reflection of the starlight upon the white mantling of snow made the dump of broken rock and ore marking the tunnel site, and beyond it the larger bulking of the cabin, dimly discernible. Garth thrust a hand backward to signal a halt, and as he did so, a jet of flame shot from a thick graving of young firs on the right-hand slope of the gulch opposite the cabin, and, preceding the jarring report by a fraction of a second, they heard the smack of the bullet as it struck its target.

"Reckon I called the turn," Garth whispered. "Yer pardner's holdin' the cabin ag'in 'em. Ain't no back door to that shack, is there?"