She could see him dodging to and fro as he moved forward,
for the rifles were again barking.
She was within two hundred yards of him, still going rapidly, but
not with the same headlong rush as before, when the curly head
disappeared in the sage-brush. It was up again presently, but she
could see that the man came limping, and so uncertainly that
twice he pitched forward to the ground. Incautionsly one of his
assailants ran forward with a shout the second time his head went
down. Crack! The unerring rifle rang out, and the impetuous one
dropped in his tracks.
As she approached, the young woman slowed without stopping, and
as the car swept past Curly Head flung himself in headlong. He
picked himself up from her feet, crept past her to the seat
beyond, and almost instantly whipped his rifle to his shoulder in
prompt defiance of the fire that was now converged on them.
Yet in a few moments the sound died away, for a voice midway in
the crescent had shouted an amazed discovery:
"By God, it's a woman!"
The car skimmed forward over the uneven ground toward the end of
the semicircle, and passed within fifty yards of the second man
from the end, the one she had picked out as the leader of the
party.
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