His arm was without its natural appendage—the hand had gone at the wrist.
The blood flowed so freely that directly he became faint, and staggering to an adjacent log, sat down upon it, with a very white face. The others desisted, and looking at him, now became chary of their own hands, knowing the danger they ran in inserting them through the leaves.
Downing, hearing the clamor, stopped in his frenzied work, and walked up to Fink.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. Fink held his hand to his view.
With a fierce oath he cried:
“We must get him. One hundred dollars to the man that kills him—five hundred to the man that takes him alive.”
The men needed no other stimulus. With one accord they returned to their task; and then they worked like tigers—cutting and twisting. However, they were chary of their hands—the example before them was too potent to be disregarded; and though working hard, they observed great caution.
They had not much longer to work before they could reach him. To prevent his escaping, men were sent to the rear of the knoll, with orders not to harm him, but to take him alive if possible. Walter’s chances were few indeed.
And now a cry came from one of the most industrious—he had opened quite a breach.
The outlaws were quite near the close of their respective tasks, and, fearing to lose the reward, worked like men for their lives.