Sheridan, nearer the passage, got one man as he leaped by. Then he ran swiftly back along the wall to get out of the range of the bullets of his own men. Another Chinaman sprawled. The kerosene flare asserted itself and the firing of the men from the Circle S became too accurate for the liking of the yellow invaders. They retreated, leaving their dead behind.
"Reduces the odds a bit," said Sheridan, coolly enough, though his fighting blood was up, pounding through his veins, tingling at his fingertips.
Quong was examining the two corpses. Sheridan's bullet had gone through one from temple to temple. The other was shot through the heart.
"Sing Li and another rascal named Chang," he announced. "I thought so. They are hired bravos of Hsu Fu. Highbinders, you call them."
"Where do you suppose they got the cars and who guided them here?" asked Sheridan. The questions had been troubling them. There promised to be a respite after this attack that had ended in their favor.
"I think they bought the cars in Los Angeles," said Quong. "They would come through Imperial Valley and Yuma and Prescott. It would be the simplest way. Hsu Fu would not risk trying to hire cars in Arizona for his men. Even if he could get them, the publicity would be dangerous. They would travel by night and take cover in the daytime. As for a guide, he would leave the cars outside Pioche or Metzal and go in himself to ask for a Chinaman of my description and the way to this
