"
"We can't be sure of that," returned Brennan, wise in guarding against
surprises. "There was another fellow with him on the out trip, and he
might be lying down back in the wagon. We'd better both of us hold 'em
up. I can hear the creak of the wheels now, so maybe you best slide
down. Is the outfit loaded?"
"Travelling light, I should say," and Westcott, after one more glance,
crept down the sand-heap and joined the waiting man below. Both stood
intent and ready, revolvers drawn, listening. The heavy wheels grated
in the sand, the driver whistling to while away the dreary pull and the
horses breathing heavily. Moore pulled them up with a jerk, as two
figures leaped into view, his whistle coming to an abrupt pause.
"Hell's fire!" was all he said, staring dumbly down into Brennan's face
over the front wheel. "Where in Sam Hill did you come from?"
"I'm the one to ask questions, son," returned the little marshal, the
vicious blue barrel shining in the sunlight, "and the smarter you
answer, the less reason I shall have to hurt yer.
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