Close in, boys.
Close in for God's sake!" He himself was flailing with his quirt, and the buckskin grunted at every strike.

Once more the rifle pitched to the outlaw's shoulder, and this time the bullet clicked on a rock not ten feet from Retherton, and again on a straight line for him.
"Damned if that ain't shootin'!" called Garry, and Retherton, alarmed, swung the buckskin out to one side to throw the marksman out of line.
He had turned again in the saddle, and as though the episode were at an end, restored his rifle to its case, but when they poured in another volley about him, he swung sharply roundabout again, gun in hand.

Once more the rifle went to his shoulder, and this time the bullet knocked a puff of dust into the very nostrils of the buckskin.

Retherton reined in with an oath.
"He's been warn in' me, boys," he called.

"That devil has the range like he was sitting in a rockin' chair shooting at a tin-can.