To the utter amazement of Andrew the whole crowd—the crowd which had just been carefully and systematically robbed—burst into laughter. But this was the end.
There was Allister's whistle; Jeff Rankin ran around
from the other side of the train; the gang faded instantly
into the thicket. Andrew, as the rear guard—his most
ticklish moment—backed slowly toward the trees. Once
there was a waver in the line, such as precedes a rush.
He stopped short, and a single twitch of his rifle froze
the waverers in their tracks.
Once inside the thicket a yell came from the crowd, but Andrew had whirled and was running at full speed. He could hear the others crashing away. Sally, as he had taught her, broke into a trot as he approached, and the moment he struck the saddle she was in full gallop. Guns were rattling behind him; random shots cut the air sometimes close to him, but not one of the whole crowd dared venture beyond that unknown screen of trees.
