“That is the rumour.  I never got hold ov any proof, but Lacy has shipped a pile o’ cattle out o’ Villa Real, although why he should ever drive his cows there across the desert instead o’ shippin’ them here in Haskell or Taylorville, I never could understand.  That’s the principal reason I’ve got for thinkin’ he an’ Mendez are in cahoots, an’ if they be, then the Mexican must have some kind o’ a camp out there in the sand whar he hides between raids; though, damn if I know whar it can be.”  He paused reflectively.  “It’ll be like hunting a needle in the haystack, Jim, but I reckon you an’ I’ll have to get out that way, an’ we might have luck enough to stumble onto the old devil.”

Westcott changed his position, inadvertently bringing his head above the protection of the rock.  Instantly there was a sharp report, and a speeding bullet grazed his hair, flattening out against the stone.  The rapidity with which he ducked caused the marshal to laugh.

“Not hurt, are you?  No.  That was a rifle; Mike isn’t such a bad shot with that weapon.  He’s over there behind that tree—­see the smoke?  If the cuss pokes his head out, I’ll try the virtue of this .45; it ought to carry that far.  Hah! there he is; I made the bark fly anyway.”

CHAPTER XXIII:  THE ESCAPE

The afternoon wore away slowly, the two men realising more and more clearly the nature of the siege.  Their only safety lay in the protection of the rocks, as they were now entirely surrounded, and fired upon from either bank the moment either raised a head.  No attempt was made, however, to assault their position, nor did they often return the fire, desiring to preserve for future use their small supply of ammunition.  Brennan remained watchful, but silent, brooding over his plans for the night, but Westcott became overpowered by fatigue and slept quietly for several hours.

The sun was already sinking behind the range of mountains when he finally aroused himself, and sat up.  There was no apparent change in the situation; the running water murmured musically against the rocks, the distant banks, already in shadow, exhibited no sign of human presence.  Below in the distance was the deserted street of the town, and farther away a few of the shacks were visible.  The scene was peaceable enough, and the awakened sleeper could scarcely comprehend that he was in truth a fugitive being hunted for his life, that all about him were men eager to kill, watchful of the slightest movement.  It was rather the sight of Brennan which restored his faculties, and yielded clear memory.  The latter greeted him with a good-humoured grin.

“Well, do you feel better, Jim?” he asked pleasantly.  “Thought I’d let you sleep as long as I could, for we’ve got some job ahead of us.  Sorry thar ain’t no breakfast waitin’, fer I wouldn’t object ter a bit o’ ham bone myself.  I reckon if Lacy coops me up yere much longer, he’s liable ter win his bet; I’m plumb near starved out already.”