The troopers trained to tread on velvet feet, slipped along like so many silent shadows.
But every first right finger trembled on a trigger.
They knew the man they had to deal with, and the mere click of a gunlock on their part might mean instant death at the hand of the great bandit.
They lay down.
Each tree and rock beyond seemed to hold a lurking shadow, so tensely strained were their nerves and vivid their imaginations.
A twig snapped among the trees in the dense shadows. But not a man stirred. For long minutes they waited there, scarcely drawing a free breath.
The men needed no orders from their captain, no imposition for silent caution. They were trained too finely in Indian warfare to need such injunctions.
If indeed it were the great outlaw himself who stood under the spreading trees whence had come the warning sound, they knew he would not move for some time. Not until he had waited the effect of his incautious step would he move a muscle of his body, and perhaps he would be standing with one foot poised in the air, every sense keenly alert, his eyes piercing the shadows with almost superhuman vision.
To such extremes are men's senses trained, who live in momentary expectation of the blinding crash and the bullet between the eyes.
The troopers heard no further sound.