“Listen! what’s all that shouting going on?” cried Adrian, as he paused; “can the rustlers be getting reinforcements?”
“Not much, if I know what a cheer sounds like!” answered Donald; “but it must be that sheriff’s posse, come up just in the nick of time. Give them an answering whoop, Adrian, Billie, and then let’s capture that man who rode the bay
hoss; because unless I miss my guess that’s the king pin of the lot, Hatch Walker himself!”
Billie made wonderfully fast time in trying to reach the fallen man first.
“Surrender! The game is up, Hatch Walker!” he panted, as he presented his rifle at the man, who was now beginning to move a little.
“I’m all in, so don’t shoot!” called the other, feebly.
Out from the darkness dashed a body of at least a dozen bold riders; and as if they grasped the situation instantly each one seemed to pick a certain rustler, and put after him at full speed. And to the delight of the boys, the fickle moon thought best to sail out into an open space above just then, allowing the pursuit to go on with more or less success.
Sheriff Jo Davies must have picked up the right kind of a posse for his first trial of strength against the infamous Walkers, for they scattered the band to the four winds of heaven; five were brought back as prisoners, and the boys afterward learned that two had been badly wounded, so that they were carried to the ranch to be looked after for the time being.
It certainly was the chief offender, Hatch himself, whom Broncho Billie had dismounted by that lucky shot. He fell into the hands of the sheriff who was determined to do his duty; and it might
as well be said right here that Hatch and all of his men who were captured received good long sentences for rustling cattle; while the band was broken up for good, never to come together again in that county while Jo Davies carried the star of his office on his left breast.