"Stand out, Jim Duff! Be a man, for once in your miserable career,"
ordered Rafe Bodson. "Don't try to protect yourself by hiding behind
the bodies of men who don't know any better than to follow your lead."
Jim Duff didn't accept the challenge. Instead, he crouched behind two
of his followers, taking deliberate aim with his revolver at Bodson.
But he never fired that cowardly shot. Like a flash from the sky came
an interruption that created panic among the assembled scoundrels.
"Here we have 'em, gentlemen," announced the steady voice of
Superintendent Hawkins from the western end of the gully. "Get 'em all
rounded up. If they've done Mr. Reade and Mr. Hazelton any injury then
don't let one of them get away alive."
The low sand piles near by seemed swarming with men. The steel barrels
of firearms glistened even in the darkness.
The scout had been sent out to the eastward. None had thought of
watching the western approach to the gully.
"Shoot, boys!" screamed Jim Duff, wheeling in a sudden frenzy of
desperation.
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