Those with cooler heads and better judgment reined in their horses. Gale found himself in the midst of an excited throng with whom he was carried forward for some distance before he could get free.
"He's right, lads, he's right," he shouted. "There's no chance to follow the track till it's daylight. Don't smother it. Come back."
"Chase him to the range, boys, chase him to the range. We'll catch him at the rise," yelled one of the men in the lead, and with an answering cheer the galloping crowd held on.
Those who had remained on the road were starting to return to the township when Gale rode back. Hearing him coming, they waited to see who it was.
"They're mad," he cried, as he came up. "If they get near him, he'll shoot them as they come, and they'll destroy every sign of his tracks."
"It's done now," Durham exclaimed impatiently. "We'll have to leave them; it's no use going after them now."
He turned his horse's head and set off for the township with Brennan at his side and the rest trailing after him. At the station he and Brennan wheeled their horses into the yard while the others went on to their homes.
"I shall be away with the dawn," Durham said, as soon as the horses were stabled and they were in their quarters. "It's the old story. That fellow has had so much luck up to the present he's lost his head. He wants to show us how clever he really is."
"There's not much sense in what he did to-night; anyone in the crowd might have had a rifle, and there was no doubt who he was—he carried his life in his hands for nothing, it seems to me."
"They always do sooner or later. He's an old hand at the game, or he wouldn't be so anxious to let us know he's still in the neighbourhood."