Then a strange thing happened.
George Kelly wheeled, ignoring the order to drop his weapon, but instead of pointing it at the lone invader he leveled it across the fire-lit circle.
"Stop thet!" he yelled. "Leave them rifle-guns be or I aims ter shoot."
Surprise was following on surprise, and the half-befuddled faces of the drinkers went blank with perplexity and incredulity.
"What ther hell does ye mean? What did ye come out with us fer?" demanded a shrill voice, and Kelly's response spat back at him viciously. "I means thet what Bear Cat says are true es text. I mean thet 'stid of seekin' ter kill him, I'm a-goin' along with him. I've done been a slave ter Kinnard Towers long enough—an' right now I aims ter quit."
"Shell we tell Kinnard thet?" demanded Jim Towers dryly.
"Tell him any damn' thing ye likes. I'm through with him," and turning toward the astonished Stacy, he added, "I reckon we've done all we needs ter do hyar. We've busted thar bottles—an' thet's ter say we've busted thar hearts. Let's leave."
But Bear Cat's face was still grim and his words came with a clear-clipped sharpness. "Not yit.... They've still got some guns over thar.... I'll hold 'em where they're huddled, steady es a bird-dog. You git them guns."
George Kelly went circumspectly around the circumference of the fire and started back again, bearing an armful of rifles. At one point he had to pass so close to the dejectedly hulking shoulders of a seated figure that his knee brushed the coat—and at that instant the man swept out his hand and jerked violently at the passing ankle.
Kelly did not go down, but he lunged stumblingly, and scattered weapons broke from his grasp. Even then he had the quickness of thought to throw them outward toward Bear Cat's feet and leaped side-wise himself, still clinging to one that had not fallen.