As the command pealed from the lips of the leader, the men in the grove put spurs to their steeds and dashed down upon the wagons.
Not a sound escaped their lips as they rode swiftly on in a compact body.
As soon as they appeared the drivers of the wagons lashed their teams, and the mustangs dashed over the plains at a furious gallop.
“Spread,” cried the leader.
At the word his little command spread out in the form of a fan, covering the distance of an eighth of a mile, and stretching across the course of the flying wagons, that were now bumping along at a terrific pace.
“Halt!” was the next command, and the spread-out body pulled up sharp, right in the path of the oncoming teams.
Still the drivers of the wagons lashed the mustangs, evidently with the idea of cutting through at all hazards.
At this moment one of the drivers fired off a pistol, and the outriding guard began to close in towards the wagon at a swift pace.
The leader of the charging party whistled shrilly, and half a dozen of his men at once covered the oncoming teams with their rifles.
“Fire!”