“What are we standing here for?” he said, almost fiercely. “Give me your horse. Follow me down to the camp!”
He sprung into the saddle and rode down to the camp, Norman following him as fast as he could run. The men were coming out of the saloon, and Varley rode into their midst, pulling up his horse on its haunches. He had regained something of his presence of mind by this time, and his voice was almost as clear and cool as usual as he said:
“Boys, I’ve bad news. They’ve taken Esmeralda.”
After a moment, they grasped his meaning. There was no need to ask who had taken her; they all understood. A roar like the growl of an infuriated wild beast rose, and every man’s hand went to his weapon, while they thronged round Varley, instinctively waiting for his word of command. He drew his head up with the air of the born leader, and kept them cool by his own coolness.
“Let every man mount and meet me on the road,” he said. “Let there be no noise, no shouting.”
“Ay, ay!” came the instant response. They rushed off. Taffy brought Varley’s horse, and Norman sprung on to his own.
“What do you mean to do?” he asked.
“Bring her back, if I have to kill every man in Dog’s Ear!” said Varley between his clinched teeth.
In a few minutes they heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs, but not a word, so implicitly was Varley obeyed. He and Norman rode toward the road. Neither of them at that moment thought of Norman’s mission, or, indeed, cared anything about it. Esmeralda was in danger, and everything else was of secondary importance.
By the time they had reached the bend of the road they found the men awaiting them. They looked a formidable band, and their silence was more ominous than any shouting or fierce oaths could have been. Some of the men’s faces were as white as Varley’s own, and there was a look on Taffy’s so full of blood-thirstiness that for a moment or two Norman could not take his eyes from him.