"It'll be like hunting a needle in the haystack, Jim, but I reckon you an' I'll have to get out that way, an' we might have luck enough to stumble onto the old devil." Westcott changed his position, inadvertently bringing his head above the protection of the rock.

Instantly there was a sharp report, and a speeding bullet grazed his hair, flattening out against the stone.

The rapidity with which he ducked caused the marshal to laugh.
"Not hurt, are you?
No.

That was a rifle; Mike isn't such a bad shot with that weapon.

He's over there behind that tree--see the smoke?
If the cuss pokes his head out, I'll try the virtue of this .45; it ought to carry that far.