From that time on, at least as far as Dick was concerned, things became blurred, hazy—unreal. Bullets flew in the brush everywhere. The pack-train had stampeded, but the outlaws still remained. Most of Murky’s adherents had now taken to cover and were offering a most stubborn resistance. It was plain that Dick and Toma had failed in their efforts.
There came suddenly a lull in the firing. In a choked, excited voice, Dick spoke to Toma:
“This is a terrible mess. We haven’t succeeded in accomplishing anything. First thing we know, one of these outlaws will get a pot-shot at Rand—and then all will be over.”
“Corporal no fool,” Toma replied. “Things not so bad what you think. Here come policeman now.”
It was true. With the prisoners walking ahead of him, Rand came straight toward the place of the recent skirmish. This was the reason why the firing had ceased. The outlaws were waiting for Murky. As the policeman and his three prisoners came directly opposite Dick heard Rand giving orders. Then Nichols called out in a trembling voice:
“Come out of it, boys. It’s all over. Come out, I tell yuh. If any o’ yuh shoot, I’m a dead man!”
One or two at a time, the outlaws came out, dropped their guns and moved forward to Murky’s side, hands held high. Seeing the turn affairs had taken, Dick and Toma also lost no time in joining the group.
“Well, Murky, I guess it’s all over,” Rand stated evenly. “We haven’t seized your fur yet, but that won’t take long. Have you anything to say for yourself?”
“Nothin’ at all, corporal,” Nichols answered insolently. “But mebbe we ain’t through yet—you an’ me.”
Rand ignored the threat.