"Stand by," it said. "They're coming along."
Then Brooke set his lips as a human figure, carrying what seemed to be an axe, materialized out of the gloom. Another appeared behind it, and then a third, while, when a fourth became visible, Wilkins rose suddenly.
"Now, what in the name of thunder are you wanting here?" he said.
The foremost man jumped, as Shyanne asserted afterwards, like a shot deer, but the rest, who had apparently steadier nerves, came on at a run, and a man behind them shouted, "Don't worry 'bout anything, but get your stakes in. I'll do the talking."
Then, while Brooke slipped away, Wilkins stepped out into the moonlight with a Marlin rifle gleaming dully in his hand. "Stop right where you are," he said. "Where's the man who wants to talk?"
The men stopped, and stood glancing about them, irresolutely. There were six in all, but rather more than that number of shadowy objects had appeared unexpectedly among the sawn-off stumps. While they waited Saxton stepped forward.
"Well," he said, "you see me."
"Oh, yes," said Wilkins, drily, "and I guess I've seen many a squarer man. What do you want crawling round our claim, anyway?"
"It's not yours. Your patent's bad, and we're going to re-locate it for you. Haven't you got those stakes ready, boys?"
"Bring them along," said Wilkins. "I'm waiting."