"Horses?" cried the white man. "Then we had better make tracks."
"Who is there?" cried Dick at the top of his voice. If they were enemies, he knew he could be no worse off.
"Shut your mouth!" howled the white man.
"Hullo!" was the answering call, and in a moment several men dashed up, all heavily armed, and accompanied by James Monday and Fred Garrison.
"Help!" called out Dick. "Don't let them get away!"
"They are not going to catch me!" growled Puller, and struck his horse in the side. The animal bounded forward and was followed by that on which the negro was riding. Scarcely had this been done when a shot rang out and the negro fell from his saddle to the ground.
"Halt, in the name of the law!" cried James Monday to Puller, but the man paid no attention. Several shots were fired at him, but soon the gloom of early morning hid him from view.
"I'm more than glad that you have come," cried Dick to the government official and Fred. "How did you get here so quickly?"
"It was mostly luck," answered the detective. "Garrison delivered the message to just the right party and I ran into the crowd just coming away from the town. We have got nine men here, and all willing to do their utmost to round up that Red Rock ranch gang."
It was soon learned that Watermelon Pete had been hit in the thigh. The wound was not a fatal one, but it was destined to put the rascal in the hospital for some time to come.