Some of them were crouching; some were lying prone--apparently resting; still others were sitting, their backs against their protection--waiting.
Sanderson took his rifle by the barrel and with the stock forced a channel through some rotted rock on the top of the little ridge that afforded him concealment.

When he had dug the channel deeply enough--so that he could aim the weapon without exposing his head--he stuck the rifle barrel into the channel and shouted to the Dale men: "This game is played out, boys! I'm behind you.

You can't hide any longer.

I give you fair warning that if you don't come out within a minute, throwin' your guns away an' holdin' up your hands, I'll pick you off, one by one! That goes!" There was sincerity in Sanderson's voice, but the men doubted.
Sanderson saw them look around, but it was plain to him that they could not tell from which direction his voice came.
"Bluffin'!" scoffed a man who was in plain view of Sanderson; the very man, indeed, upon whom Sanderson had his rifle trained.
"Bluffin', eh ?" replied Sanderson grimly.

"I've got a bead on you.