His eye had fallen on that article of headgear just as Hank had clumsily tried to conceal it. Merritt instantly recognized it by the stamped band about its crown.
"Why, I—we—that is—it's my hat," lied Hank clumsily.
"That's not true, and you know it!" shouted Merritt, carried away by rage. "You know where Rob Blake is. You——"
Crack!
The boy staggered back, half-blinded, as Bill Bender raised his heavy quirt and cut him full across the face with it.
"Come on, boys!" shouted Clark, as Merritt reeled backward. "Let's get out of this."
The two ponies sprang forward, leaving the ranch party half-stunned by the suddenness of Bill's brutal blow. But it was only for a second. In that interval of time Blinky's face had grown wrinkled and drawn with anger, and his hand had slid back to his hip and produced his forty-four. In another instant Bill would have paid dearly for his blow, but the rancher's hand fell on the cow-puncher's arm.
"Not that way, Blinky," he said.
"All right, boss," rejoined Blinky regretfully; "but it would have been a heap of satisfaction to have let daylight into that coyote's carcass."
"Those fellows know where Rob is!" shouted Merritt, across whose face an angry red ridge lay, marking where the quirt had struck him. "Stop them!"