During all this time the Englishman—whom the reader has doubtless recognised as Charlie Brooke—was pushing on as fast as he could in the hope of overtaking the man who could guide him to Traitor’s Trap.
At last he came to the Blue Forks, and rode into the pass with the confidence of one who suspects no evil. He drew rein, however, as he advanced, and picked his way carefully along the encumbered path.
He had barely reached the middle of it, where a clear space permitted the moonbeams to fall brightly on the ground, when a stern voice suddenly broke the stillness of the night with the words—
“Hands up!”
Charlie Brooke seemed either to be ignorant of the ways of the country and of the fact that disobedience to the command involved sudden death, or he had grown unaccountably reckless, for instead of raising his arms and submitting to be searched by the robber who covered him with a revolver, he merely reined up and took off his hat, allowing the moon to shine full on his countenance.
The effect on Buck Tom was singular. Standing with his back to the moon, his expression could not be seen, but his arm dropped to his side as if it had been paralysed, and the revolver fell to the ground.
Never had Buck Tom been nearer to his end than at that moment, for Hunky Ben, seeing clearly what would be the consequence of the Englishman’s non-compliance with the command, was already pressing the trigger that would have sent a bullet into Buck Tom’s brain, but the Englishman’s strange conduct induced him to pause, and the effect on the robber caused him to raise his head and open wide his eyes—also his ears!
“Ah! Ralph Ritson, has it come to this?” said Charlie, in a voice that told only of pity and surprise.
For some moments Ralph did not speak. He was evidently stunned. Presently he recovered, and, passing his hand over his brow, but never taking his eyes off the handsome face of his former friend, he said in a low tone—
“I—I—don’t feel very sure whether you’re flesh and blood, Brooke, or a spirit—but—but—”