Part 13 (1/2)
”Doggone!” voiced Snake, as he reached his hand to the inside pocket of his vest. ”They spilled half of it!”
”What?” asked Bud, relief showing itself in his voice.
”My tobacco!” answered Snake. ”I had some packed away there to keep it moist--some new kind of plug chewin' I got last week. Doggoned if they ain't put a bullet clean through it!”
”And lucky for you they did,” grunted Tar Soap Mullin, who had earned this name from the kind of lather he used in shampooing himself every Sat.u.r.day night. ”If that bullet hadn't happened to hit your plug it would have plugged you.”
And this was evident when Snake took out the tobacco in question. The lead missile had struck the hard and pressed cake of tobacco, striking a tin tag fastened to it, and thus the force of the bullet had been neutralized, giving Snake no more than a severe shock and bruise.
”Well, it might have been worse,” the cowboy grimly said, as he tucked back his s.h.i.+rt, and put the tobacco in another pocket. ”Now we got to get busy! This is getting serious!” Bud and his chums thought he might have said it was serious from the start, as indeed it was.
”What I picked you fellows out for,” went on Snake, ”is to take a sort of scurry out there and see who's doin' all this shootin'.” He clipped letters off his words in his haste. ”We're goin' out there an' see if we can take 'em in the rear, while Yellin' Kid holds their attention in front.”
”Do you reckon they're Yaquis?” asked Tar Soap.
”Might be, then ag'in might not. If they aren't I don't see why in the name of all the rattlers of Forked Rover [Transcriber's note: River?]
they're pickin' on us.”
The method of procedure was simple and quickly agreed upon. Snake was to lead the boy ranchers and his half of the party, by as safe and devious a route as possible, out of the natural fort, to try and take the enemy in the rear. If they could be placed between two fires--that of Snake's party and of Yellin' Kid's--a surrender might be compelled.
”And don't take too many chances,” advised Snake, as the sally forth was started. ”Watch yourselves.”
They all knew enough to do this.
”When do we start?” asked Bud in a low voice, as Snake seemed to be delaying for some reason.
”Soon as the Kid and his lads start firing,” was the answer. ”They're to hold the Indians' attention in front while we come at 'em from the flank and rear. Get ready--it may come at any moment now!”
It did, a second or two later--the signal. Amid a burst of shots from Yellin' Kid and his force, Snake led the way with his men, all of them crouching down to keep as much as possible behind the rocks.
”Don't shoot until you see something to shoot at,” Snake had ordered.
”Save your lead.”
Bud, Nort and d.i.c.k were together, leaping, crawling, crouching and stumbling. Suddenly d.i.c.k, who had gone a little ahead of his two chums, looked through an opening of the rocks. What he saw caused him to gasp in surprise, and as he pointed he cried:
”Del Pinzo! Del Pinzo and his crowd! It isn't the Yaquis at all! It's Del Pinzo!”
CHAPTER XII
FORWARD AGAIN
Time was when the mention of Del Pinzo's name would have brought forth a yell of anger from the cowboys of Diamond X ranch. He was an enemy at once to be feared and loathed, for he did not fight fair, and he was of the detested, half-breed Mexican type.
But now, when the cry of d.i.c.k apprised the others of the presence of this ruthless cattle rustler, thief and all-around bad man, there was no answering shout. One reason for this was that caution was necessary, so that the presence of the skirmis.h.i.+ng party be not disclosed, and another was that the information that it was Del Pinzo, and presumably his gang who had ambushed our friends, came as a great surprise.
”Del Pinzo?” half gasped Snake Purdee as he ran to d.i.c.k's side.
”Yes, there he is! See!”