For the very eagerness of the grizzled farmer to win the hundred dollars defeated the detectives' purpose.
The distance to the cabin was almost a mile less by the short cut through the fields than by the path through the woods by which the desperadoes were advancing.
By hard riding, the posse gained the edge of the forest and, under the guidance of the old man, without much trouble made their way to the clearing in which Brett's hut stood.
No dogs, horses or men were in sight as the man-hunters cautiously peered from the underbrush before riding into the open.
"The devils either ain't got hyar yit or they're inside the cabin," declared the farmer.
"Thar's Brett's padlock on the door, so they ain't inside," asserted another.
"Hooray! I've won my hundred! Hey, you fellows, hurry up! I want my money!" shouted the guide, slapping his thighs in joyful anticipation of the reward.
In his excitement, the man had bellowed the words and his stentorian tone woke the echoes in the trees.
Blissfully ignorant of the change of course of their pursuers, the notorious bandits were picking their way along the trail when the shout rang through the woods.
Instantly Jesse and Cole drew rein, staring at one another.