Their rifles were still popping, and Sanderson saw two of the Double A force go down before they could find shelter.
Sanderson divined what had happened--Dale and his men had overpowered Owen, and had set this ambuscade for himself and the Double A men.
Dale was determined to murder all of them; it was to be a fight to a finish--that grim killing of an entire outfit, which, in the idiomatic phraseology of the cowpuncher, is called a "clean-up." Sanderson was aware of the disadvantage which must be faced, but there was no indication of fear or excitement in his manner.

It was not the first time he had been in danger, and he drew his belt tighter and examined his pistols as he crouched against the ragged wall of the fissure.

Then, calling Streak to him, he pulled his rifle out of the saddle holster and examined the magazine.
Rifle in hand, he first surveyed the wall of the defile opposite him.
The crevice in which he was hiding was irregular at the entrance, and a jutting shoulder of it concealed him from view from the wall of the defile opposite him.

Another projection, opposite the jutting shoulder, protected him from any shots that might be aimed at him from his left.
The fissure ran, with sharp irregularities, clear up the face of the wall behind him.

He grinned with satisfaction when he saw that there were a number of places along the upward line of the fissure which would afford him concealment in an offensive battle with Dale's men.
He contemplated making things rather warm for the Dale contingent presently; but first he must make sure that none of his own men was exposed to danger.
Cautiously, then, he laid his head close to the ragged wall of the fissure and peered upward and outward.