“He’s a spy!” bawled Benner; “Gringo Pete is a spy! He’s trying to get away!”
The last word died in a fusillade of revolvers. Red Steve, his four men and Lige Benner had each drawn a six-shooter and sent their leaden respects after Wild Bill.
The Laramie man felt that he was safe. What horse was there at the Circle-B that could overhaul old Beeswax?
In that supreme moment, gloating over what he had accomplished, the Laramie man must needs turn, shake his fist and taunt those behind on their poor marksmanship.
“Yah! You men couldn’t hit the side of a barn! By-by!”
While Wild Bill was looking behind, something mighty important was happening in front. As he turned around to keep Beeswax in the right course, the Laramie man was made unpleasantly aware of the change in the situation.
Four of the Circle-B cowboys were riding in from the range. These four were directly in front of Wild Bill, and not more than twenty feet distant. They had heard Wild Bill’s shout, and their attention had already been attracted by the discharge of revolvers. When the whoops and yells of Lige Benner, Red Steve and the rest reached their ears, they spread out and prepared to blockade the racing fugitive.
“Keep clear!” shouted Wild Bill.
He made a fierce attempt to get at his revolvers. They were under his ragged disguise, and he had been under the impression that they were placed where they could be conveniently drawn.
But in this he was mistaken. Some part of his costume got between his itching fingers and the hand grips of his guns.