They listened intently.
“Coming from Redmans,” whispered McLean.
“Run on ahead and get in among the bushes at the bend there,” shouted Jim. “I’ll keep to the road, and whoever he may be I’ll stop him as he comes up. If he tries to beat me to it,––shoot! See your ropes are O.K., Mack, for you might have to use them quick.”
The two hurried ahead and disappeared. Jim kept 177 jogging along in the middle of the road, slowly and innocently.
The clatter of the oncomer grew louder and louder, and beat faster.
A horseman came tearing along at breakneck speed. When he was some twenty paces off, Jim swung round, levelled his rifle and shouted.
“Stop! Throw up your hands! Quick!”
The horse drew back on its haunches and sprang up in fear, but the rider had it in check and held his seat. He steadied his beast and put his hands up slowly.
Jim went forward. As he drew closer he recognised the rider––Red McGregor.
“Get down!” ordered Jim, smiling grimly to himself.