The men sprang from their saddles and surrounded him.
Old Nebuchadnezzar backed from them to the end of his picket rope, and snorted indignantly and fearfully.
“Aire you Nick Nomad, as he says?” demanded the leader, peering into the trapper’s face.
Nomad fancied that lying would gain him nothing.
“Happy ter say thet I am,” he declared. “I reckon it ain’t a name ter be ashamed on, along this hyar border; seein’ thet Injuns and outlaws never yit liked ther sound of it.”
“Give up yer weapons.”
“Thar’s my gun.”
“But yer other weapons—yer knife and pistols.”
“And then what?” the old man asked. “Mebbe ye’ll be wantin’ me ter give up my life next?”
“Surrender yer weapons!” was shouted at him.