Macy took the first watch that night. He turned in at two after he had
roused Dud to take his place. The cook had been on duty about an hour
when Elliot kicked Holt, who was sleeping beside him, to make sure that
he was ready. The old man answered the kick with another.
Presently Gordon got up, yawned, and strolled toward the edge of the
camp.
"Don't go and get lost, young fellow," cautioned Dud.
Gordon, on his way back, passed behind the guard, who was sitting tailor
fashion before a smudge with a muley shotgun across his knees.
"This ain't no country for chechakoes to be wandering around without a
keeper," the cook continued. "Looks like your folks would have better
sense than to let their rah-rah boy--"
He got no farther. Elliot dropped to one knee and his strong fingers
closed on the gullet of the man so tightly that not even a groan could
escape him. His feet thrashed to and fro as he struggled, but he could
not shake off the grip that was strangling him. The old miner, waiting
with every muscle ready and every nerve under tension, flung aside his
blanket and hurled himself at the guard. It took him less time than it
takes to tell to wrest the gun from the cook.
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