The Bradys swiftly drew their pistols.
It was clear that a fight was imminent.
The man with the rifle pulled the trigger, intending to shoot the old detective, but his weapon missed fire.
"Run!" yelled his companion behind the rocks, and he shot at Harry just as Mason made a dash for shelter.
A bullet whistled by dangerously close to Young King Brady's cheek, and he discharged a shot at the running man.
It carried off his hat.
The next moment the three rascals vanished.
Harry and his partner made an effort to find them, but failed.
All hands had gone plunging among the weeds and shrubbery, and in an instant were swallowed up by the verdure.
"A warm welcome, Harry," said Old King Brady, when they met on the railroad track five minutes later.