“Well, the marshal and S. Behrman don't seem to be in any hurry, either.”
“Shall I go forward and reconnoitre, Governor?” asked Harran.
But Dabney, who stood next to Annixter, touched him on the shoulder and, without speaking, pointed down the road. Annixter looked, then suddenly cried out:
“Here comes Hooven.”
The German galloped into sight, around the turn of the road, his rifle laid across his saddle. He came on rapidly, pulled up, and dismounted at the ditch.
“Dey're commen,” he cried, trembling with excitement. “I watch um long dime bei der side oaf der roadt in der busches. Dey shtop bei der gate oder side der relroadt trecks and talk long dime mit one n'udder. Den dey gome on. Dey're gowun sure do zum monkey-doodle pizeness. Me, I see Gritschun put der kertridges in his guhn. I tink dey gowun to gome MY blace first. Dey gowun to try put me off, tek my home, bei Gott.”
“All right, get down in here and keep quiet, Hooven. Don't fire unless——”
“Here they are.”
A half-dozen voices uttered the cry at once.
There could be no mistake this time. A buggy, drawn by two horses, came into view around the curve of the road. Three riders accompanied it, and behind these, seen at intervals in a cloud of dust were two—three—five—six others.