For answer the man whirled a violent blow at Hector's head and his hand flashed to his hip. Hector smashed in his right, all the pent-up emotion of days behind it. The big puncher hurled crashing to the ground among his friends.
"Anyone else want any? All right. We'll take him up for inciting to riot. Now, boys, do as I tell you and go home."
The spirit of the mob was broken. One prompt, telling blow, backed by absolute firmness in the face of great odds and the thing was done.
To deal with Whitewash Bill remained. And on Whitewash Bill depended everything.
Hector turned to Cranbrook and, to Cranbrook's astonishment, he was smiling.
"Now for the outlaw. I want you to point out where he is."
Cranbrook, handing the horses over to Dandy Jack, led him forward. Forshaw followed.
"Easy here, sir. Keep low," said Cranbrook.
They stole on until they could look round the shoulder of the ridge.
"He's in those bushes," Cranbrook stated, pointing to a small thicket about seventy-five yards away.