Ladd fell backward still holding the .405.  Gale dragged him into the shelter of his own position, and dreading to look at him, took up the heavy weapon.  It was with a kind of savage strength that he gripped the rifle; and it was with a cold and deadly intent that he aimed and fired.  The first Greaser huddled low, let his carbine go clattering down, and then crawled behind the rim.  The second and third jerked back.  The fourth seemed to flop up over the crest of lava.  A dark arm reached for him, clutched his leg, tried to drag him up.  It was in vain.  Wildly grasping at the air the bandit fell, slid down a steep shelf, rolled over the rim, to go hurtling down out of sight.

Fingering the hot rifle with close-pressed hands, Gale watched the sky line along the high point of lava.  It remained unbroken.  As his passion left him he feared to look back at his companions, and the cold chill returned to his breast.

“Shore—­I’m damn glad—­them Greasers ain’t usin’ soft-nose bullets,” drawled a calm voice.

Swift as lightning Gale whirled.

“Laddy!  I thought you were done for,” cried Gale, with a break in his voice.

“I ain’t a-mindin’ the bullet much.  But that choya joint took my nerve, an’ you can gamble on it.  Dick, this hole’s pretty high up, ain’t it?”

The ranger’s blouse was open at the neck, and on his right shoulder under the collar bone was a small hole just beginning to bleed.

“Sure it’s high, Laddy,” replied Gale, gladly.  “Went clear through, clean as a whistle!”

He tore a handkerchief into two parts, made wads, and pressing them close over the wounds he bound them there with Ladd’s scarf.

“Shore it’s funny how a bullet can floor a man an’ then not do any damage,” said Ladd.  “I felt a zip of wind an’ somethin’ like a pat on my chest an’ down I went.  Well, so much for the small caliber with their steel bullets.  Supposin’ I’d connected with a .405!”

“Laddy, I—­I’m afraid Thorne’s done for,” whispered Gale.  “He’s lying over there in that crack.  I can see part of him.  He doesn’t move.”

“I was wonderin’ if I’d have to tell you that.  Dick, he went down hard hit, fallin’, you know, limp an’ soggy.  It was a moral cinch one of us would get it in this fight; but God!  I’m sorry Thorne had to be the man.”

“Laddy, maybe he’s not dead,” replied Gale.  He called aloud to his friend.  There was no answer.

Ladd got up, and, after peering keenly at the height of lava, he strode swiftly across the space.  It was only a dozen steps to the crack in the lava where Thorne had fallen head first.  Ladd bent over, went to his knees, so that Gale saw only his head.  Then he appeared rising with arms round the cavalryman.  He dragged him across the hole to the sheltered corner that alone afforded protection.  He had scarcely reached it when a carbine cracked and a bullet struck the flinty lava, striking sparks, then singing away into the air.