Armitage rode out farther into the opening, and Claiborne, with his eyes
on the barricade, saw a man lean forward through the cedars in an effort
to take aim at the horseman. Claiborne drew up his own rifle and blazed
away. Bits of stone spurted into the air below the target's elbow, and
the man dropped back out of sight without firing.
"I've never been the same since that fever," growled Claiborne, and
snapped out the shell spitefully, and watched for another chance.
Being directly in front of the barricade, he was in a position to cover
Armitage's advance, and Oscar, meanwhile, had taken his cue from Armitage
and ridden slowly into the field from the left. The men behind the cedars
fired now from within the enclosure at both men without exposing
themselves; but their shots flew wild, and the two horsemen rode up to
Claiborne, who had emptied his rifle into the cedars and was reloading.
"They are all together again, are they?" asked Armitage, pausing a few
yards from Claiborne's rock, his eyes upon the barricade.
"The gentleman with the curly hair--I drove him in. He is a damned poor
shot--yes?"
Oscar tightened his belt and waited for orders, while Armitage and
Claiborne conferred in quick pointed sentences.
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