When they reached Hooven's again, they found that the Leaguers had already taken their position in the ditch. The plank bridge across it had been torn up. Magnus, two long revolvers lying on the embankment in front of him, was in the middle, Harran at his side. On either side, some five feet intervening between each man, stood the other Leaguers, their revolvers ready. Dabney, the silent old man, had taken off his coat.
“Take your places between Mr. Osterman and Mr. Broderson,” said Magnus, as the three men rode up. “Presley,” he added, “I forbid you to take any part in this affair.”
“Yes, keep him out of it,” cried Annixter from his position at the extreme end of the line. “Go back to Hooven's house, Pres, and look after the horses,” he added. “This is no business of yours. And keep the road behind us clear. Don't let ANY ONE come near, not ANY ONE, understand?”
Presley withdrew, leading the buckskin and the horses that Gethings and Cutter had ridden. He fastened them under the great live oak and then came out and stood in the road in front of the house to watch what was going on.
In the ditch, shoulder deep, the Leaguers, ready, watchful, waited in silence, their eyes fixed on the white shimmer of the road leading to Guadalajara.
“Where's Hooven?” enquired Cutter.
“I don't know,” Osterman replied. “He was out watching the Lower Road with Harran Derrick. Oh, Harran,” he called, “isn't Hooven coming in?”
“I don't know what he is waiting for,” answered Harran. “He was to have come in just after me. He thought maybe the marshal's party might make a feint in this direction, then go around by the Upper Road, after all. He wanted to watch them a little longer. But he ought to be here now.”
“Think he'll take a shot at them on his own account?”
“Oh, no, he wouldn't do that.”