But they had their worry for nothing, for when they came in sight of the crossroads and the dingy and solitary little shop which stood there, they saw Nick in front, sitting on a keg, smoking and talking with a number of bystanders.
“Where’s Clancy, Nick?” asked Chick, bringing the Red Spider to a halt.
“Inside, handcuffed to an anvil. It was hard to do anything with him without killing him—and I didn’t want to do that.”
“Did he make you much trouble?” asked Patsy.
“Some. He’s one of that Montana clique, and they never seem to know when they’re downed. Clancy is beginning to scent the situation, though, for he hasn’t made much noise during the last few minutes. He was a pal of Ramsay’s, and you know what a time we had bagging him.”
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE LAST OF THE SWINDLERS.
Clancy had fought every step of the way through the woods to the blacksmith shop.
Every convenient tree trunk, every rise of ground, and every rock which he encountered in the course of his retreat was taken advantage of and used as a temporary breastwork.
The fact that no serious injuries resulted from the shooting proves how wary the men were.
Nick emptied his repeater at about the identical time Clancy emptied his revolvers.