“I’ll come back and finish that some day, when all this range trouble is over,” said the Texan. “I think it’s better for me to go before any one finds where I’ve been hidden. It’ll save trouble for those who have befriended me.”
Before the naturalist or the girl could answer, the faint sound of hoofbeats came to the ears of the little group. The sound was irregular and rapid.
“Somebody’s coming fast,” said the Texan. “It’s more than one in the saddle, from the sound. I reckon I’m not going to make my get-away without being seen, after all.”
“Let us hide you,” said the girl.
“It wouldn’t be any use. There’s too much of my truck scattered around, and there is my horse in the corral.”
“You have no weapons with you.”
“No use anyway,” was the mild answer. “I wouldn’t desecrate Uncle Billy’s peaceful abode by doing any shooting here, and I don’t believe any one else will.”
The hoofbeats grew louder, and Alma and the Texan exclaimed in unison, as two horsemen dashed into the clearing: “Swingley and Tom Hoog!”
The leader of the invaders and his lieutenant came at breakneck speed, reining their horses up with a sharp jerk beside the waiting group. Swingley grinned in triumph, as he gazed at the Texan. Hoog, with perpetual malice written on his long, saturnine features, looked on impassively from the saddle.
“Well, we didn’t know what your trail was goin’ to bring us to,” said Swingley, addressing Alma. “We’ve followed it since you left your ranch, but it’s been worth the trip for us. We didn’t have any idea of findin’ our fellow invader, Milt Bertram, here. I s’pose Uncle Billy has been holdin’ you here against your will, ain’t he?” asked the leader sneeringly.