There was a halt in the determined march toward the ranch house. There seemed to be but little formal plan in the boys' attack; simply to "get those guys an' get 'em good," as the Kid expressed it. But now that the first shock of learning of Billee's wound had passed, all realized how hopeless it would be to simply go up and take Delton. Some sort of a scheme of attack was necessary if anything was to be accomplished.
"Here's Bud now," Hawkins said as the boy rancher rode toward them. There was a sober look on his face.
"How goes it?" the Kid asked, anxiously.
"Pretty fair. He's got a chance, I think. Bleeding's stopped. Dick's got him covered up with a saddle blanket over there a ways. If I get a crack at Delton——"
"How'd it happen, Bud?" asked Hawkins quickly. It was evident that he wanted the boys to control themselves. It was dangerous work they were about to start, and thought must be clear and quick, unimpeded by external circumstance.
"From what I gather from Dick, Billee sneaked up to take a look in one of the windows, and someone snipped him. He just made the shelter of the trees and fell unconscious."
"Well, men, that means we have an additional reason for taking Delton." Mr. Hawkins looked about him to be sure all were listening. In the east the red rim of the morning sun was bulging over the horizon. The time for action had come.
"Nort, come over here a minute, will you? Hold my bridle rein while I see if I've got that paper with me."
The boy, wondering a little, seized the rein while Hawkins went through his pockets. The agent's eyes were riveted on Nort's hand. It was as steady as a rock.
"Never mind—guess I won't need it. All right." Hawkins took the reins from the boy, satisfied by his little ruse that Nort was not affected by his lack of sleep. The business before them called for a firm hand and nerve.