His hand instinctively sought his hip pocket, where the butt of a heavy revolver protruded.
Jack caught his arm just as Charlie spoke up:
“What are you doing out here, Otis Clymer?”
A dark scowl was the only response, as the horsemen, who easily recognized the party on the wagon, pushed their animals around the vehicle at a respectable distance.
“Well, we’re on to your little game, all right,” added Charlie, with a triumphant grin. “It won’t do you any good to hunt up Jim Sanders now. We’ve met him and bought the property; so the best thing you can do—you and your friend, Plunkett—is to go back whence you came. You’re out of it for good. And more—I warn you, if we meet you where the law can lay its hands on you, Clymer, we shall have you arrested for a certain night’s work in Sackville a week ago.”
The two horsemen were clearly taken aback by Charlie’s words.
Clymer uttered a curse, while Plunkett bit his lips savagely.
Both put their hands to their hip pockets.
“Stop!” thundered Prawle, yanking out his gun so swiftly as to almost take the boys’ breath away. “Throw up your right hands and move on, or I’ll drill you both quicker’n greased lightning.”
And he meant it, too.