They crouched along at a good rate, always keeping near enough not to lose the rear horseman, who was a Mexican and rode stolidly forward. When they had the chance they closed up within a few yards of the men, so that they could overhear the scraps of conversation. Once they got a real scare when one of the Mexicans swung off his pony and came back looking for a cigarette that he had dropped.
Jim and Juarez pressed back into a tall bush and stood there not daring to breathe, while the Mexican, with his eyes on the ground, came within a few feet of them, stooped and picked up his cigarette, and then the two boys heard the clatter of his horse’s hoofs as he made haste to rejoin the rest of the procession. For two hours they followed the four horsemen through the big canyon, and the smaller side one, until they came within range of the camp of the enemy, in the pocket at the end of the side canyon.
Here the boys had to use great caution. They worked around to the slope above the cabin of the Gus Gols gang. There they got their first view of the giant they had to deal with as he came into the open in front of his cabin, with his slouching walk. Six feet four in height, lanky in build but of wonderful muscular strength and endurance. He was bareheaded, with a tuft of light hair sticking straight up. His sun-burned neck was like a column.
“You Eph!” he yelled. “Tell the Greasers and Ed I want to see ’em in the corral.” Meaning the cabin.
“All right, boss,” came the answer in Eph’s gruff voice.
It was certainly an ugly-looking crowd that came from different directions in answer to Eph’s summons. There were seven of the Greasers, so there was a total of ten ruffians gathered in the cabin.
“I’m going to hear this pow-wow,” said Juarez, handing Jim his rifle. Jim nodded and from his position behind a big pine stood ready to protect Juarez’s retreat in case he was discovered by the outlaws. With nothing but his pistol and knife ready to his hand Juarez started on his dangerous mission.