There was almost a general roar.
"All opposed say no."
No one spoke for a moment, then Wambush muttered something, but no one understood what it was. He turned his horse round and started to mount. He had his left foot in the stirrup, and had grasped the mane of the animal with his right hand, when the leader yelled:
"Hold on thar! Not so quick, sonny. We don't let nobody as sneakin' as you are ride off with a gun in his hip pocket. S'arch 'im, boys; he's jest the sort to fire back on us an' make a dash fer it."
Hunter and Burks closed in on him. Wambush drew back and put his hand behind him.
"Damn you! don't you touch me!" he threatened.
The two men sprang at him like tigers and grasped his arms. Wambush struggled and kicked, but they held him.
"Wait thar a minute," cried the leader; "he don't know when to let well enough alone. You white sperits out thar with the tar an' feathers come for'ard. Wambush ain't satisfied with the garb he's got on."
A general laugh went round. With an oath Wambush threw his revolver on the ground and then his knife. This done, Hunter and Burks allowed him to mount.
"Don't let him go yet," commanded the leader; "look in his saddle-bags."