“Hold! Another step and I will measure the earth with your foul body!”
“I’m lost!” cried the frightened fugitive, falling upon his knees. “It’s the ghost of Tim Bayne!”
It was little wonder if the man’s companions stood trembling with fear, and that Joe Willet, brave girl that she was, nearly fainted.
Slowly advancing from the cloud of dust and dirt which had enveloped his form, the man with the deadly weapons continued:
“I have caught you in your own trap. The man who lifts a finger dies like a dog. It would be a blessing to man if I should send these bullets through your worthless bodies.”
“Oh, spare me! Spare me!” begged the wretch upon his knees. “I did not want to come here, but they made me. It was the buried treasure that did it. We were going away as soon as we got that.”
A commotion which had been suddenly started overhead at that moment arrested the attention of the others. Besides loud voices, could be heard the tramp of many feet, so that it seemed as if a large party had forced an entrance into the house.
Joe had heard this sudden outbreak above, and it had suddenly occurred to her that the sheriff and his posse had returned.
But the peril, as great as it was, seemed to arouse her to swift action. Though the man who was holding the desperadoes at bay was unknown to her, he was proving himself an enemy to the night marauders, and this fact told her that she could look to him for friendship.
In this dilemma she boldly addressed him. He showed no surprise at her words.