"Don't shoot!"
And in a few seconds more the old man was reining in his panting mustang among the startled and gloomy-faced miners.
"Where did you drop from?" was the cool, steady question of Skinner.
"Never you mind. Is Bill here?"
"He and his two mates are on guard at the camp. I know ye now; you're them two mining fellers. You met Bill and—"
"Yes, I met Bill; but there's no time for talk now. You take your men straight back to camp. It's the only show you've got left."
"Reckon we can beat off a few beggarly Apaches."
"Don't talk. Ride for your camp. If you get there before the Lipans do, take your wagons into the pass, and stay there till they get by. Don't strike a blow at them; they'd be too much for ye."
"Lipans? Going for our camp? Boys, 'bout face! Ride for your lives!"
For so small a man he had a great deal of voice, and his command was instantly obeyed; but he paused long enough to ask of Steve and Murray, "What about you two?"