There was a clatter of hoofs as the horses galloped over the ground. During that ride hardly a word was spoken. Then the wait began. Time seemed to stand still. The shadowy clouds disappeared, and the moon shone forth, silhouetting the group of watching punchers. A breeze sighed through the branches of a small grove of evergreens. Now and then a pony whinnied nervously, to be instantly quieted by a firm hand on his nostrils.
“Snakes, this is like waitin’ for an explosion when yore sittin’ on top of th’ dynamite!â€� whispered Pop, who was close to Roy. “If somethin’ don’t happen soon—â€�
Roy raised his hand. From the west seven riders came flashing over the moon-flooded prairie, straight for the fence. The leader leaped from his horse and, pulling something from his pocket, rested his hand on the top wire. There was a sharp crack as the strand parted.
A single shot rang out. Then a yell.
“Get ’em, boys!â€� Roy shouted. “They’re our meat! Get the one with the pliers in his hand—that’s Froud!â€�
Ponies sprang forward. Guns leaped from holsters and were leveled at the astounded rustlers. Three of the latter turned in a flash and rode off like the wind, rifles cracking them a farewell.
The man on foot looked about him desperately. In the moonlight the scar on his face seemed like a small, silver snake crawling up his face. He saw himself being surrounded by determined cowboys with murderous guns in their hands.
With a cowardly yell, his courage fled and he fell to his knees.
“Don’t shoot!� he begged, his whole body shaking. “Don’t shoot me! These men made me do it! They forced me into it! I ain’t done nothin’. I swear I ain’t! I even killed the head of this gang, Brand! You ought to let me off for doin’ that!�
Teddy looked down at the groveling figure. He turned and glanced at the other rustlers, who, realizing that the game was up, stood quietly by, hands held high in the air.