“So am I,” grinned Bub through his mask of ashes and smoke. “It will give him another chance to build fires and shoot me.”
“Let us hope he’ll be defeated without any of us killing him,” said Stanley. “Of course, if it came to choosing between him and either of you I’d shoot him myself.”
“Ye’ll do mighty little shooting if ye keep the guns unloaded,” reminded Abner.
“Well, if we ain’t in a pickle,” half-sobbed Bub, glancing quickly and fearfully about.
“What d’ye mean? Speak out!” demanded Abner, shaking him by the collar.
“Don’t you see! Nick has been to our camp. Of course he stole everything he could lay his hands to, including our ammunition. We haven’t a single shot to defend ourselves with. He can pick us off one at a time and run no chance of being hurt. He knows we haven’t any bullets, by our not shooting him.”
Crack! again sounded the whip-like report, and Abner’s hat leaped from his head.
Crack! sounded the half-breed’s rifle for the third time and Stanley felt something caress his hair with a whining noise.
