was waiting and waiting and waiting for he knew not what.
Presently it came, a desultory shot from a .45 and then an agonized cry. Then more shots in quick succession like the setting off of a bunch of firecrackers. Larry thought there must have been about thirty shots, then all was still, a strange unearthly silence. Even the trees and the bushes seemed to stand at attention waiting, waiting for they knew not what.
If the half hour until the encounter had been long, the next half hour was still longer. Who would be missing when they came in sight? What had been the outcome of the fight?
Presently he heard the sound of a footstep and his uncle appeared in sight.
"It's all right, son," shouted Hank Brodie, "don't worry, we are all here and not a man hurt."
Then his old friends, Long Tom, Pony Perkins, and Texas Jake and all the rest came filing into view. It was just as Hank Brodie had said, they were all there.
"How in the world did you all escape in such a fusillade as that?" asked Larry as soon as his uncle was in speaking range.
"Simple enough," returned the head cow-puncher. "We didn't have to fire a shot."
