“Hands up!” shouted the same voice; and a horseman appeared on each side of the team.
Then came an exhibition of the gambler as he was, as in the old days he had always been known. It was all done in the fraction of a second. Simultaneously his two guns leapt from his holsters and two shots rang out. There was an ominous echo from the woods. One horseman reeled in his saddle, and the horse of the other man stumbled and finally fell.
The next moment the man in the cart was crouching down, all but the crown of his head and his gleaming eyes well sheltered by the loose-hanging canvas hood.
“I’m ’most allus ready to put my hands up!” he snarled. “Come on!”
CHAPTER XXXI
THE BATTLE
A shout of fury. A wild chorus of meaningless blasphemy. A thundering of hoofs. A shriek of pain––an appalling death-cry. The fight has begun––such a fight, in its wanton savagery, as might shame even the forest beasts. In a moment the human lusting for the blood of its fellows is let loose, than which there is no more terrible madness on earth.
Yet there was a difference. There was a difference of motive widely separating the combatants; and it was a difference that left the balance of offense doubtful.