"What is it?" asked Jack, over his shoulder.
"Indians--the 'Paches are out. I'm hit," gasped Dick. He
crawled painfully and slowly to Jack's side, dragging his leg
after him. He pulled with him his rifle, which he picked up as
he passed from the spot where it had fallen in his first wild
rush for water.
"The soldiers told me at Fort Grant about the 'Paches being out,"
Jack whispered hoarsely. "I thought they'd crossed the border
into Mexico."
Seeing a spasm of pain sweep over Dick's face, he asked: "Are you
hurt bad?"
"I don't know. My left leg is numb."
Both men spoke scarcely above a whisper, fearing to betray their
positions by the sound of their voices. Dick lay on his back
gathering strength to ward off with rifle and revolver the rush
which would come sooner or later.
Jack caught the sound of a falling stone. Peering cautiously
over the rock, he saw an Indian creep up a draw toward them.
Throwing his rifle to his shoulder, he took quick aim and fired.
The Apache jumped to his feet, ran a few steps forward, and fell
sprawling. A convulsive shudder shook him, and he lay still.
"I got him!" cried Jack exultantly, as he saw the result of the
shot.
But the exposure of his head and shoulders above their barricade
had drawn forth more shots from other members of the band.
The bullets struck near the two men, showing that the Apaches had
the range.
Dick's wound was bleeding freely, but the shock of the blow had
passed away, and his strength returned.
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