Bob and Dud tied their horses to a hitching-rack and climbed the fence into the park. Blister came out of the shadows to meet them.
“W-whad I tell you, Texas man?” he asked of Bob. “Show-down at last, like I said.”
Into the night lifted a startled yell. “Here come the Injuns!”
Taut nerves snapped. Wails of terror rose here and there. A woman fainted. The sound of a revolver shot rang out.
One of the roisterers, who had been loud in his threats of what he meant to do to the Indians, lost his braggadocio instantly. He leaped for the saddle of the nearest horse and dug his spurs home. In his fuddled condition he made a mistake. He had chosen, as a mount upon which to escape, the fence that encircled the park.
“Gid ap! Gid ap!” he screamed.
“Yore bronc is some balky, ain’t it, Jud?” Hollister asked. He had already discovered that the panic had been caused by a false cry of “Wolf” raised by one of the fence rider’s companions.
“S-some one hitched it to a post,” Blister suggested.
“Ride him, puncher,” urged Bob. “Stick to yore saddle if he does buck.”
Jud came off the fence sheepishly. “I was aimin’ to go get help,” he explained.