Nebuchadnezzar bared his greenish teeth, and in another moment would have been at the throat of the nearest man.
“Whoa, Nebby!” Nomad yelled. He had seen the man pitch up a revolver, and knew that Nebby would get the bullet. He knew, too, that a bullet would be his own portion if he made an attempt to run.
“Ketched nappin’!” he said, lowering his rifle. “Yer aire too many fur me. But if I hadn’t been a fool, ’twouldn’t happened.”
Lena was too startled and too frightened for words. She stared at the masked outlaws, her eyes big and bright, her face turning white.
“Drop your gun!” Black John commanded.
Nomad looked at him hard, and let the rifle slide to the ground.
“I’m a fool, but I don’t skeer easy,” he said; “and I know who ye aire, old hoss, which I’ll say it if I never speak another word. Why don’t you take that devil’s han’k’cher off’n yer face?”
Black John came forward, holding his revolver in readiness.
“Keep him covered!” he called out. “Where’s the rest of your crowd?”
“Yer aire lookin’ at ther whole of them,” said Nomad. “Me and my daughter, hyar.”