Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand.
He waited. Suddenly a moving speck broke the sky-line. Momentarily it grew larger. Now it was sufficiently silhouetted for him to recognize it. A horseman was coming toward him, racing as hard as spurs could drive the beast under him.
Just for a moment he wondered. Then he glanced swiftly round at the river behind him. Yes, the river. This man was riding from the hills. And he understood in a flash. He was pursued. The hounds had him out in the open. The only shelter for miles around was the sparse bush at the riverside, and––the river itself. His interest became excitement, and a sudden wild hope. He now searched the horizon behind the man. There was not a soul in sight––and yet––those two shots.
But the situation suddenly became critical for himself. He realized that the fugitive had seen him. From a low bending attitude over his horse’s neck the man had suddenly sat erect. Also he was gripping a heavy revolver in his hand.
Suddenly a further excitement stirred the waiting man. As the fugitive sat up he recognized him. It was Will Henderson.
He was still a hundred yards away, but the distance was rapidly narrowing. At fifty yards he, Jim, would be well within range, and the memory of those two shots warned him that the revolver in the horseman’s hand was no sort of bluff. It meant business, sure enough, and his own identity was not in the least likely to add to his safety. He must convey his peaceful intentions at once.