"Your idea is that we drift past under cover
of the log?"
"Sure. We'll tie our guns an' cartridges on top, where they'll be out
o' water, an' keep down below ourselves. Them fellers may glimpse the
log an' blaze away, but 'tain't likely they'll have luck enough to hit
either one o' us, an' the flare will show 'em it's only a log, an'
they'll likely quit an' pass the word along. It sounds blame good ter
me, Jim; what d'ye say?"
Westcott's hand went out, and the fingers of the two men clasped
silently. There was no need for more speech; they understood each
other.
The night closed down swiftly, as it does in the West, the purple of
the hills becoming black as though by some magic. There was a heavy
cloud hanging in the Western sky, constantly sweeping higher in pledge
of a dark night. The banks of the stream became obscured, and finally
vanished altogether; while the water ceased to glimmer and turned to an
inky blackness. Lights twinkled in the distant shacks, and the front
of the Red Dog burst into illumination. The saloon was too far away
for the watchers to pick out the moving figures of men, but Brennan
chuckled, and pointed his finger at the glare.
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