One of the men protested, saying it would be dangerous, but the sheriff agreed with Stacy.
“We will have a fire and will post guards to protect ourselves,” he said. “We shall not be bothered by the bandits to-night; I am positive of that. They know that the alarm has been given and that, in all probability, a posse is already on their trail. If nothing develops during the night—if we get no news from Lieutenant Wingate—we will start for Gardner in the morning and organize a big searching party to comb the mountains for him.”
After all phases of the situation had been discussed, the sheriff’s plan was agreed to, and a fire was built up. It had been blazing for some time when, in a lull in the conversation, Stacy was reminded that he had not finished telling about his meeting with the bandits.
“Yes. You left off with shooting two men with each bullet,” laughed Tom Gray.
“In the excitement of meeting up with the villains,” resumed Stacy, without an instant’s hesitation, “I wheeled the pony—spun him about on his hind feet like a top, set him down on all fours and dashed away. We didn’t gallop, we simply dashed. You know it wasn’t that I was afraid. Anyone who knows me knows that nothing can scare me. I—”
“Bang, bang, bang!”
“Oh, wow!” howled the fat boy, diving head first into a clump of bushes where he crouched wide-eyed, the chill creepers chasing up and down his spinal column. The others of the party sprang up and snatched their rifles, Ford kicking the blazing wood of the camp-fire aside, and Tom Gray dousing it with a pail of water.
“Lie low, everybody, till I find out what this means!” commanded the sheriff sharply.
“Are—are we attacked? Have the scoundrels come back?” chattered Chunky.
“Be quiet!” Mr. Ford crept out into the darkness, the others waiting in tense expectancy listening for a rifle volley.