“Do that agin’ an’ I’ll wing ye!” howled Sam.
The attackers did it again. The tents no longer being a safe refuge, the girls ran out and stood by the campfire so that the night riders might see and avoid them. Emma stood a few yards from them, where she had been standing since the excitement began. This time the riders rode down the rest of the tents, with weapons still shooting into the air.
Sam had returned his revolver to its holster, but a nervous hand trembled on the butt of the weapon—trembled not because of any fear of its owner, but because all the nervous tension of a trained gunman was centered in it. The riders were growing wilder with each passing second, and Sam was growing proportionately calmer, with shoulders slouched forward and whiskers standing out at a sharper angle. It was plain that nothing short of shooting with intent to wound or kill could stay the orgy of those wild night riders and their mustangs whose flashing heels were a peril to every member of the Overland party. Both Jim and Sam, knowing that aggressive action on their part would bring down the wrath of the riders, hesitated.
There came a moment, however, when restraint was no longer possible. The horsemen had cleared the camp and were turning for another sweep over it when a rider on a dust-covered pony came galloping into the light of the campfire.
“Whoo-pee!” he howled, his lariat in a great loop spinning over his head.
“Look out!” roared Jim warningly, for he saw where the rope was going to drop.
His warning failed of its purpose. The lariat came down in a flash, and the great loop, holding its form in a perfect circle, dropped neatly over the head of Emma Dean.
At first Emma did not realize what had happened, but as the coil suddenly tightened about her waist she uttered a scream. Her feet left their footing and Emma measured her length on the ground, the coil gripping her tighter and tighter, though the roper had checked the speed of his mustang and was letting the rope slip slowly through his hands.
Sam’s hand was trembling on the butt of his revolver more agitated than before. The trembling ceased suddenly, and there followed a twitch of the wrist, a flash, and a sharp report. The roper uttered a yell and let go of his lariat. Sam’s shot had shattered his wrist.
Hippy sprang to Emma and freed her of the lariat.