The Young Engineers in Colorado Part 32

"I see figures moving there," Dave answered. Then, in a low voice, the deputy instructed the engineers on each side of him.

"I see half a dozen more figures---heads, rather---showing just at the summit line of the rock itself," went on Reade.

"Yes; I make 'em," answered Fulsbee, after a long, keen look.

Again more instructions were given to the engineers.

"Say, I've _got_ to have a rifle," insisted Harry nervously.

"You know, I always have been 'cracked, on target shooting. This is the best practical chance that I'll ever have."

"You'll have to wait your turn, Harry," Tom urged soothingly.

"My turn?"

"Yes; wait until one of our fellows is badly hit. Then you can take up his rifle and move into his place on the line. When you're hit, then I can have the rifle."

Hazelton made a face, though he said nothing.

Meanwhile Fulsbee's a.s.sistant, the man who had driven the wagon into camp, stood silent, motionless, behind the canvas-covered object in the bushes just behind the engineer's fighting line.

"Now, if one of you galoots dares to fire before he gets the word,"

sounded Dave Fulsbee's warning voice in the ominous calm that followed, "I'll s.n.a.t.c.h the offender out of the line and give him a good, sound spanking. The only man for me is the man who has the nerve to wait when he's being shot at."

Crack! Far up on the bald k.n.o.b a single shot sounded, and a bullet struck the ground about six feet from where Tom Reade stood with the binocular at his eyes.

Then there came a volley from the right of the rock, followed by one from the rock itself.

"Easy, boys," cautioned Fulsbee, as the bullets tore up the ground back of the firing line. "I'll give you the word when the time comes."

Another volley sounded. Bullets tore up the ground near President Newnham, and one leaden pellet carried off that gentleman's soft hat.

"Please lie down, Mr. Newnham," begged Tom, turning around. Now that the fight had opened the cub chief saw less use for the binocular.

"We can't have you hit, sir. You're the head of the company, please remember."

"I don't like this place, but I'm only one human life here," the man from Broadway replied quietly, gravely. "If other men so readily risk their lives for the property of my a.s.sociates and myself, then I'm going to expose myself at least as much as these young men ahead of us do."

"Just one shot apiece," sounded Dave Fulsbee's steady voice.

"Fire where you've been told."

It was an irregular volley that ripped out from the defenders of the camp. Half of the marksmen fired to the right of the rook, the others at its crest.

Right on top of this came another volley, fired from some new point of attack. It filled the air at this end of the camp with bullets.

"Livin' rattlers!", cried Dave Fulsbee, leaping to his feet. "That's the real attack. Reade, locate that main body and turn us loose on 'em. If you don't, the fellows in the real ambush will soon make a sieve of this camp. There must be a regiment of 'em!"

CHAPTER XVIII

WHEN THE CAMP GREW WARM

President Newnham had prudently decided to lie down flat on the ground.

Nor was it any reflection on his courage that he did so. He was taking no part in the fight, and the leaden tornado that swept the camp from some unknown point was almost instantly repeated.

At the same time the marksmen on and at the right of the bald k.n.o.b continued to fire. The camp defenders were in a criss-cross of fire that might have shaken the nerves of an old and tried soldier.

Tom watched the ground as bullets struck, trying to decide their original course from the directions in which the dust flew. Then he swung around to the right.

With modern smokeless powder there was no light, bluish haze to mark the firing line of the new a.s.sailants. Tom Reade had to search and explore with his binocular gla.s.s until he could make out moving heads, waving arms.

"I've found 'em, Fulsbee!" young Reade cried suddenly, above the noise of rifles within a few yards of where they stood, as the engineers made the most of their chances to fire. "Turn the same way that I'm looking. See that blasted pine over there to your right, about six hundred there to the gully southeast of the tree.

Got the line? Well, along there there's a line of men hidden.

Through the gla.s.s I can sometimes make out the flash of their rifles.

Take the gla.s.s yourself, and see."

Dave Fulsbee s.n.a.t.c.hed the binoculars, making a rapid survey.

"Reade," he admitted, "you have surely located that crowd."

"Now, go after them with your patent hay rake," quivered Tom, feeling the full excitement of the thing in this tantalizing cross fire. Then the cub added, with a sheepish grin:

"I hope you'll scare 'em, instead of hitting 'em, Dave."

Fulsbee stepped over to his a.s.sistant. Between them they swung the machine gun around, the a.s.sistant wrenching off the canvas cover. Fulsbee rapidly sighted the piece for six hundred yards.

The a.s.sistant stood by to feed belts of cartridges, while Dave took his post at the firing mechanism.

Cr-r-r-r-rack! sounded the machine gun, spitting forth a pelting storm of lead. As the piece continued to disgorge bullets at the rate of six hundred a minute, Dave, a grim smile on his lips, swung the muzzle of the piece so as to spread the fire along the entire line of the main ambush.

"Take the gla.s.s," Tom roared in Harry's ear, above the din. "See how Fulsbee is throwing up dust and bits of rock all along that rattled line."

Hazelton watched, his face showing an appreciative grin.

"It has the scoundrels scared and going!" Hazelton yelled back.

Fully fifteen hundred cartridges did the machine gun deliver up and down that line.

Then, suddenly, Dave Fulsbee swung the gun around, delivering a hailstorm of bullets against the bald k.n.o.b rock and the bushes to the right of it.

"There's the answer!" gleefully uttered Hazelton, who had just handed the gla.s.s back to his chum.

The "answer" was a fluttering bit of white cloth tied to a rifle and hoisted over the bushes at the right of the bald k.n.o.b.

"Who do you suppose is holding the white cloth?" chuckled Tom.

"I can't guess," Harry confessed.