“But what’s that?” cried Sparrowhawk, as a loud and long whistle came plainly to their ears. “A locomotive?”
“Can’t be,” said Jack. “But there’s the devil to pay out there.”
And Jack was right.
There was the devil to pay.
[CHAPTER V.]
THE RUNNING FIGHT ON THE PLAINS.
“Charge!”
Three white canvas-covered express wagons were rolling over the plains, drawn by teams of tough mustangs.
In a little grove, close to the track of the wagons, a small body of mounted men sat motionless, headed by one whose flashing eyes and commanding manner stamped him a born leader.
Around the wagons, stretching out for the distance of half a mile, rode fully half a dozen men, not seeming to have any connection with the wagons and still keeping them under guard.