“I see, an’ I is obleeged; now thar lies yer saddle, an’ yer rifle is tied to it, with yer pistols, tho’ they isn’t loaded.”
“You will give me ammunition, of course?”
“Yer ammunition is in yer saddle pockets.”
“Good! bring the saddle and bridle here, and then I will start.”
The guard thrust the bag of gold into the bosom of his shirt, walked to the edge of the grove and took up the saddle, and returned to where the gambler stood.
“Yes, here are my pistols, and—take that!”
Down upon the head of the guard as quick as the lightning’s flash fell the barrel of the revolver, and, with a low moan, the man fell in his tracks.
“Now the gold and diamonds are mine! Ha! Who is that?”
Kent King glanced over to one of the camp fires, where a man had suddenly raised himself to his feet and stood brightening up the coals as though he were cold.
Hastily Kent King thrust his hands into the pockets of the guard, and, not finding the bag of gold, uttered a bitter oath.