“Dump your man, Ashby,” commanded Jim Duff, halting at last. “It will be a mistake to go too far. Their friends won't expect to find 'em so close, and they'll soon be searching farther away.”
So Ashby dropped Harry on to the sand beside Tom. Then the wickedest possible gleam came into the hotel man's eyes as he loaded his shotgun.
“We'll fill 'em full of lead right here and now,” whispered the hotel keeper. “Then we'll be sure that they can't get away from us again.”
“Not so fast!” retorted Duff warningly. “We can't shoot now. If we do, there'll be no way to get out of this alive. Look yonder!”
Duff swung his mad friend around, pointing to a gleam of light that shone out over the desert.
“An automobile,” muttered the gambler. “And there's another—and another! There must be six or eight of them out to-night, and all of 'em crammed with fighting men. A shot would bring two or three carloads of ugly fellows down upon us.”
“What are we going to do, then?” demanded the hotel keeper, in a menacing tone.
“Wait awhile,” urged the gambler. “You're seeing what the plan of the enemy is. They're circling about, but they're further out from the gully than we are. The cars will go on cutting larger and larger circle, and all the time getting farther away from us. In half an hour the cars and the men will be so far away that we need give no thought to them. Then we can attend to Reade and Hazelton.”
“What are you going to do with them?” demanded Ashby in a whisper, his cunning eyes lighting with a fire of added eagerness.
“We'll get 'em awake, first of all,” nodded Jim Duff. “Then we'll attend to them.”