t astonished. Laramie
evidently was not expecting an encounter. To dash on horseback into
any five men on foot, of the enemy's camp, was the last thing he would
be likely to attempt. If he did attempt it, he would never choose Van
Horn or Stone to be of the party. The ground about the scene was flat,
or only slightly rolling, with the branch road and its old ruts running
across it. Caught squarely in the open and without a sagebrush for
cover, he had been forced to drop behind his horse for shelter. Lying
flat and covering Van Horn and the men with his rifle, he awaited the
unpleasant odds against him.

The situation of the five men in front was even worse. Their rifles
were stacked against the gate hardly a dozen feet away. But to run a
gauntlet of a dozen feet against Laramie's rifle fire was a feat none
had stomach for, nor were they ready at a hundred yards to pit
revolvers against it. One of them might get him but they knew it would
be after some of the others had practically ceased to be interested in
the result.

The minds of the Texas men were perfectly clear; their hands shot up
like rockets. Stone had taken one big step toward the gate post--he
changed his mind, halted and his hands went up at the very instant
Laramie changed _his_ mind, and did not press the trigger against the
burly outline darkening the field of his sights. Van Horn, caught,
stood helpless and enraged--humiliated in circumstances he least
relished for humiliation. Everybody's hands were up. His one chance,
Van Horn realized, was to use his Colt's against the Winchester behind
the prostrate horse--it was not a living chance and no one knew it
better than he; his hands moved grudgingly up to his shoulders and he
sang out savagely: "What the blazes do you want?"

There was no answer from Laramie. To add to a difficult situation,
Kate's horse, nervous from the shouting and catching its mistress's own
fright, jumped and bucked till she was halfway down the road toward
Laramie before she could check him. To add to her confusion, words
came from ahead just loud enough for her to hear: "Pull the blamed
brute to one side, will you?" It was Laramie speaking, she knew. "If
he gets between me and that bunch," she heard him say, "I'm a goner."
She jerked her horse violently out of the road; Laramie had raised his
voice and kept right on talking: "Turn your back, Van Horn--you, too,
Stone. Shoot up your hands, you Texas--higher!" he