McGregor seemed to recognise Langford at the same time and, thinking Jim was alone, took a chance.
His off hand lowered and he pulled a gun quickly, but a shot and a flash from the side of the road were quicker still. His arm dropped limply and he yelled in pain and surprise.
“Get down!” ordered Jim again.
“You be damned!” cried McGregor, swinging his horse round and setting spurs.
The horse sprang in response. Jim thought he was going to make it, when a lariat flew out like a long snake, poised for a second over Red’s head and, in a second more, stretched him on the roadway, half-choked.
McLean held the rope taut, while Jim and Phil ran in and secured their prisoner.
“What’n the hell’s the matter with you bunch,” gasped Red. “Can’t a man go to Vernock when he damned-well wants to?”
“Not always, Red!” answered Jim. “It isn’t always healthy to want to go to Vernock.”
“By God!––let me go and I’ll take you on one at a 178 time––two at a time if you like. You, Langford,––I’ll fix you for this anyway.”
“We’re going to fix you first, Rob Roy McGregor O!”