"The boys must be comin'," whispered Eddie Shorter hopefully.
For half an hour the firing continued and then silence again
fell upon the mountains. Eddie began to wander mentally. He
talked much of Kansas and his old home, and many times he
begged for water.
"Buck up, kid," said Billy; "the boys'll be along in a minute
now an' then we'll get you all the water you want."
But the boys did not come. Billy was standing up now,
stretching his legs, and searching up and down the canyon for
Indians. He was wondering if he could chance making a break
for the valley where they stood some slight chance of meeting
with their companions, and even as he considered the matter
seriously there came a staccato report and Billy Byrne fell
forward in a heap.
"God!" cried Eddie. "They got him now, they got him."
Byrne stirred and struggled to rise.
"Like'll they got me," he said, and staggered to his knees.
Over the breastwork he saw a half-dozen Indians running
rapidly toward the shelter--he saw them in a haze of red that
was caused not by blood but by anger. With an oath Billy
Byrne leaped to his feet. From his knees up his whole body
was exposed to the enemy; but Billy cared not. He was in a
berserker rage.
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