He pulled up the picket pin—there was no time to get saddle and bridle on Beeswax—and made a hackamore of the picket rope.
“Stop that man!” came a voice from near the foot of the hill.
Wild Bill understood the words, and they certified to Lige Benner’s hostile intentions toward him. But the shouted order was not so clearly understood by Red Steve and his men.
“Who was that a-yellin’?” demanded Red Steve.
“Sounded like Lige’s voice,” answered Shorty Dobbs.
“Now, ye watch!” bellowed Wild Bill, at the top of his voice, hoping to drown out any more noise Lige Benner might make.
As he spoke, he jumped to the back of the horse. If he could get away with the hackamore, and minus his riding gear, Wild Bill was going to be entirely satisfied. Kicking his heels into Beeswax’s ribs, he started through the timber in the direction of the trail to the Star-A.
“Hyer!” roared the voice of Shorty Dobbs; “make ’im lay down an’ roll over!”
“Got ter git ter clear ground afore I kin do that,” shouted Wild Bill, turning in his saddle. “Trail erlong, amigos!”
Red Steve and his four White Caps might have started after Wild Bill, still in the hope that he would make Beeswax “lie down and roll over” had not Lige Benner, at that moment, come tearing in among them.