CHAPTER XIV.
Ballard Shows Fight.
DENIS STEWART was unutterably weary, both physically and mentally.
He had been on a tremendous strain for the past three days, and the sleep which he had gained had been fitful and at odd intervals. He had drawn heavily on his splendid physique, and as he waited for Ballard’s coming he realized that he could not endure another physical struggle. Nor did he intend to.
“If I can’t down him by sheer will power, I’m gone,” he thought wearily. “If I add a bit of target practice, I may pull through—but it may not come to that.”
No false hopes were his. He knew the temper of those settlers, and knew that they would be savagely determined to get hold of Cowley. He was there to prevent their doing so—that was all.
Another shout sounded, closer this time, and another. Denis realized that they were trailing Cowley, having found the creek entrance and evidently being without knowledge of what lay ahead. He sat quietly, gazing through the open doorway at the sunny clearing, and waited.
There was a note in those shouts which he did not like, a menacing, bloodhound note which spelled danger. This was a man hunt, firing the hunters’ blood with ferocity, demanding a victim, knowing neither reason nor mercy. And at the end of the trail sat Denis, his blue eyes cold as ice.
Then he sighted the hunters.
They appeared in a group, running, and halted abruptly at the edge of the clearing as they scanned the cabin. One of the men, that same “Ed” who had on the previous evening pierced through Denis’ similarity to his brother, had left his arm in a sling, but held a revolver in his right hand.