"Hold on thar," cried the cowpuncher raising a big, gauntleted hand, "don't come no further, strangers. Thar's ther road back yonder."
He backed up his hint by exhibiting his revolver rather ostentatiously. But Nat's eyelids never quivered as he looked the other full in the face and asked in a tone that sounded like one of mild, tenderfoot inquiry:—
"What are you doing there, mister—branding calves?"
"No we ain't, young feller," rejoined the cowpuncher, "Now if you're wise you'll take that fer an answer and get out of here pronto—quick—savee!"
"I don't see any reason why we can't drive through here," said Nat, cunningly stringing out the talk so that the car could creep quite close to the group of would-be lynchers.
"You don't see no reason?"
"No."
"Wall, stranger—thar's six reasons here and they all come out at once."
As he spoke the cowpuncher tapped the shiny barrel of his revolver with a meaning gesture. Nat saw that he could not go much further with safety.
"Now you git!" snarled the cowboy. "You've had fair warning. Vamoose!"