"Your idea is that we drift past under cover of the log ?" "Sure.

We'll tie our guns an' cartridges on top, where they'll be out o' water, an' keep down below ourselves.

Them fellers may glimpse the log an' blaze away, but 'tain't likely they'll have luck enough to hit either one o' us, an' the flare will show 'em it's only a log, an' they'll likely quit an' pass the word along.

It sounds blame good ter me, Jim; what d'ye say ?" Westcott's hand went out, and the fingers of the two men clasped silently.

There was no need for more speech; they understood each other.
The night closed down swiftly, as it does in the West, the purple of the hills becoming black as though by some magic.