But Texas reached his destination without the slightest interruption. He pushed his way through the bushes and stepped out into the little clearing, gazing swiftly about him. He saw not a soul.
The place was silent and deserted. The moon strayed down through the trees and shone on the Texan’s silent figure, but it shone on no other living thing.
“They ain’t hyar!” muttered Texas. “That air’s sho! An’ yet where are they? This business is gittin’ mysterious like.”
It was for a fact. The more Texas thought over it the more he became filled with a vague sort of alarm, which he didn’t like. Those yearlings had put up this plot for some purpose. That no one could doubt. Perhaps they were carrying it out now, and with Mark all alone among them.
“That fellow Mallory ain’t used to guns,” mused Powers. “He needs me to take care of him. I reckon I’ll go back!”
A very sensible resolution that, Texas! By all means, hurry up! About to carry it into effect, he wheeled and started to leave the clearing. A second later he staggered back with an inarticulate gasp of horror.
The Texan’s face was a study at that particular moment. His hair seemed fairly to rise beneath his cap. His jaw dropped, and his knees began to fail him.
Surely never had an ex-cowboy been more unnerved before.
Those of us who know Texas know that he was no coward. One might say with certainty that neither madman nor yearling—no, nor even ghost—could have produced such an effect upon him. And that indeed was the fact; this apparition was one against which a thousand revolvers could do nothing. And Texas was ruined!
Stern and solemn, his dignified figure towering in the moonlight, there had marched out of the woods no less a person than Lieutenant Allen, the “tac” of Company A!