CHAPTER XXXII

WINNING A FIGHT

After Sanderson shot the big man who had tried to rush him, there was a silence in the defile.  Those of Dale’s men who had positions of security held them, not exposing themselves to the deadly fire of Sanderson and the others.

For two hours Sanderson clung to his precarious position in the fissure, until his muscles ached with the strain and his eyes blurred because of the constant vigil.  But he grimly held the place, knowing that upon him depended in a large measure the safety of the men on the opposite side of the defile.

The third hour was beginning when Sanderson saw a puff of smoke burst from behind a rock held by one of his men; he heard the crash of a pistol, and saw one of Dale’s men flop into view from behind a rock near him.

Sanderson’s smile was a tribute to the vigilance of his men.  Evidently the Dale man, fearing Sanderson’s inaction might mean that he was seeking a new position from where he could pick off more of his enemies, had shifted his own position so no part of his body was exposed to Sanderson.

He had wriggled around too far, and the shot from Sanderson’s man had been the result.

The man was not dead; Sanderson could see him writhing.  He was badly wounded, too, and Sanderson did not shoot, though he could have finished him.

But the incident drew Sanderson’s attention to the possibilities of a new position.  He had thought at first that he had climbed as high in the fissure as he dared without exposing himself to the fire of the Dale men; but examining the place again he saw that he might, with exceeding caution, take another position about twenty feet farther on.

He decided to try.  Letting himself down until his feet struck a flat rock projection, he rested.  Then, the weariness dispersed, he began to climb, shoving his rifle between his body and the cartridge belt around his waist.

It took him half an hour to reach the point he had decided upon, and by that time the sun had gone far down into the hazy western distance, and a glow—­saffron and rose and violet—­like a gauze curtain slowly descending—­warned him that twilight was not far away.

Sanderson determined to finish the battle before the darkness could come to increase the hazard, and when he reached the spot in the fissure he hurriedly took note of the strategical points of the position.

There was not much concealment for his body.  He was compelled to lie flat on his stomach to be certain that no portion of his body was exposed; and he found a place in a little depression at the edge of the fissure that seemed suitable.  Then he raised his head above the little ridge that concealed him from his enemies.

He saw them all—­every man of them.  Some of them were crouching; some were lying prone—­apparently resting; still others were sitting, their backs against their protection—­waiting.