“Is that an insult?” asked Williams, bristling.
“Only the truth, Williams.”
“Oh, come on!” Gopher Gabe growled. “We’ve got something to do, other than fightin’ this night, if that bank business is to be pulled off. That’s what we want to talk about; so, come on!”
The Fool of Folly Mountain led the way back into the cabin, lamp in hand. This time he did not close the sliding door behind him; but it was a thing not noticed.
He went steadily to the table in the middle of the room, set his lamp on it, so that the room was brightly lighted; then put stools round the table for the men to sit on.
When he had done this he stepped toward the back room; but stopped near the doorway, and stamped his foot.
Attracted by this, and by a scraping of feet and a rustling sound, Gopher Gabe and the men at the table looked around. What they saw paralyzed them.
The Fool of Folly Mountain had two revolvers leveled, covering them. Beside him, in the doorway, stood the baron, holding two more revolvers. Out from one corner of the room had stepped Buffalo Bill, with two more revolvers leveled; and out of another corner Nomad had appeared, with still two more.
“The game is up!” said the Fool of Folly Mountain. “You can see that I hold all the aces.”
Gopher Gabe tried to rise from his stool, but sank back, an exclamation of bewildered amazement exploding from him.