“What—what is it?” the girl stammered, awed by the silence.
“You’d better not stay here,” Nash told her again.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to capture this man,” he declared. “He may be armed. You had better get back of——”
The man was so near now that Nash could distinguish the wide-brimmed sombrero and the glistening silver ornaments on the band. At the moment his eyes gathered in these details, he was surprised by a quick, choking cry that fell from Miss Breen’s lips.
The advancing man must have heard, for he stopped, rigid as a statue. His face, protected by the big hat, was shrouded in shadow.
Although mystified at the girl’s action, Nash knew no time was to be wasted. He jerked out his gun, and stepped from the shadow.
“Hands up, you!” he exclaimed grimly.
The man reeled back. Nash spoke again sharply. The arms shot skyward, the heavy hammer crashing to the rocks behind him.
“Keep them there,” cautioned Nash. “Now, walk forward! Careful! No tricks, or I’ll——” He moved his revolver suggestively.