"Here they come."
The boys, headed by Slats and Slim, were just turning in at the gate and a few minutes later they had herded the gang of outlaws in front of the porch. They were a sullen and dejected looking lot, all except Red Hains, whose face still bore a defiant air.
"What'll we do with these birds, Jeb?" Slats called out.
"Give 'em a necktie party," one of the boys called out.
"That's what," another agreed.
"No, we won't do that," Jeb declared as he stepped off the porch. "They deserve it no doubt, that is to say, some of them do, but it's for the law to decide, not us. I've phoned to town and the sheriff'll be out here with some of his men as soon's he can make it. Ought to be in an hour or so. So you'd better take them down to the corral and let two or three of the boys stand guard over them. But play it safe."
"Yer'er a shoutin' we'll play it safe," Slats assured him. "Right about face. Now hep up thar an' no turnin' of eyes," he ordered the prisoners.
As they turned away Bob glanced at his brother with a questioning look in his eyes. He was not quite sure but he fancied that he had detected a look of satisfaction flash over the face of Red Hains when Jeb announced that the sheriff would soon be there, and he wondered if Jack had noticed it.
Jack looked puzzled as though he was uncertain what Bob was trying to ask and the latter shook his head slightly as if to say that it did not matter. But it so happened that, a few minutes later, they were alone on the porch and he was quick to ask:
"What did you mean, Bob?"