“Sure,” nodded the other half-breed.
All three listened acutely. Yes, the sound of galloping was plain to their trained hearing. The mountains carried a tremendous echo.
Without further words all three men set off at a run for the corral. Will was the fleetest and reached his horse first. In a second he was in the saddle and sat waiting, and listening for the next alarming sound.
“It’s Ganly, sure,” he muttered, turning one ear in the direction of the rapidly approaching sound.
“Sounds like dogone ‘get out,’” cried Pete, sharply. The shadow of the rope was very near him at that moment.
The other half-breed nodded.
“Hist!” A sudden fear leaped into Will’s eyes. “There’s others,” he cried. “Come on, and bad luck to the hindmost! Joe’s safe. He can get clear by the south trail. They can’t follow that way. I’m for the northeast. You best follow. Gee!”
His final exclamation burst from him at the echoing reports of several rifles. And now the sound of galloping hoofs was very near. The men waited no longer. Will set spurs into his horse, and the half-breeds, following him, raced for the northeast exit from the hollow.
But they had waited just a second or two longer than was safe. For, as they reached the forest path, and were vanishing beneath the shadowy trees, a fierce yell went up behind them. Pete, looking back over his shoulder, hissed his alarm to his speeding comrades.