claimed that she was all right; and he felt her hands at his shoulder. She proved able to move, having been in the space between the seats, when the car capsized, so that she was not caught under the rear seat as was he by the front seat. Neski, beside him, fared like himself and lay at the bottom of the ditch under the steering-wheel.
"Where's the gun?" Neski groaned, swearing. "Where's the gun?"
Calvin felt for it, remembering that he had clutched it when the car went over; it must be at hand, he thought, and he must find it to fight the savages who, in cold blood and without a moment's mercy, would kill them all. Their engine had stopped, and in the silence Calvin heard the crunch of wheels slowly approaching on the icy ground; it came very cautiously, that motor car of gunmen, and as it drew alongside, some one began shooting.
His first bullet tore through the bottom of the dashboard; the second splintered the bottom of the front seat; the third struck almost in the same place and the next came a little rearward as the gunman deliberately and accurately raked the wreck from end to end.
Another pistol took up the task, perhaps in the same hand; perhaps another gunman fired in his turn.
Calvin struggled and stifled himself, gasping in helplessness under the horror of these methodical shots.
"Down," he whispered to Joan Daisy. "Down as low as you can." For the bullets all struck above them. The metal of the car in part protected them, but their chief shield was that which had overturned the car—the depth of the ditch. The gunmen underestimated it or else could not fire lower without shooting into the ground, for neither Calvin nor Joan Daisy nor Neski was hit.
"Where's my gun?" Neski demanded; and Calvin's fingers fumbled for it amid the ice.
