believe me when I say Dan Barry'll never die by the hand of any man. I tell you—he can see in the dark!”
A soft oath from Gus Reeve; a twitching of Ronicky's head told that this last had taken effect. Sliver Waldron suddenly altered his manner.
“All right, Vic. Trot back into town, or come with us. We're going to move out.”
“The wisest thing you ever done, Sliver.”
“I'm feelin' the same way,” breathed Gus Reeve.
“S'long,” whispered Vic Gregg, and faded into the night, running.
The others, without a word among themselves, gathered their horses and struck down the valley out of Alder. The padding and swish of the sand about the feet of their mounts; the very creaking of the saddle leather seemed to alarm them, and they were continually turning and looking back. That is, Gus Reeve and Ronicky Joe manifested these signs of trouble, but Sliver Waldron, riding in the center of the trio, never moved his head. They were hardly well out of the town when a swift rush of hoof beats swept up from behind, and a horseman darted into the pale mist of the valley bending low over his pommel to cut the wind of his riding.
“Who is it?”
“Vic Gregg!” muttered Gus Reeve. “Stir, along, Sliver. Vic ain't lingerin' any!”
But Sliver Waldron drew rein, and let his horse go on at a walk.
