God," whispered Sliver to Gus, "don't spoil that hoss when you daub
the rope on him! Look at that action; like runnin' water!"

They came more rapidly. As if the rider knew that a point of danger was
there to be passed, he spoke to his mount, and Satan lengthened into a
racing gait that blew the brim of the rider's hat straight up. On they
came. The wolf-dog darted past. Then as the horse swept by, Gus Reeve
rose from behind his bush and the rope darted snakelike from his hand.
The forefeet of Satan landed in the noose, and the next instant the
back-flung weight of Gus tightened the rope, and Satan shot over upon
his side, flinging the master clear of the saddle.

It sent him rolling over and over in the dust, and Sliver Waldron was on
his feet with both guns in action, sending bullet after bullet towards
the tumbling body. Gus Reeve was running towards the stallion, his rope
in action to entangle one of the hindfeet and make sure of his prey;
Ronicky Joe had leaped up with a yell and blazed away at Black Bart.

It was no easy mark to strike, for the moment the rope shot out from the
hand of Gus, the wolf-dog whirled in his tracks and darted straight for
the scene of action. It was that, perhaps, which troubled the aim of
Ronicky more than anything else, for wild animals do not whirl in
this fashion and run for an assailant. He had expected to find himself
plugging away at a flying target in the distance; instead, the black
monster was rushing straight for him, silently. Indeed, all that
followed was in silence after that first wild Indian yell from Ronicky
Joe. His gun barked, but Black Bart was running like a football player
down a broken field, swerving here and there with uncanny speed. Again,
again, Joe missed, and then flung up his arm toward the flying danger.
But Black Bart shot from the ground to make his kill. He could bring
down the strongest bull in the herd. What was the arm of a man to him?
His snake-like head shot through that futile guard; his teeth cut off
the screams of Ronicky Joe. Down they went. The gun flew from the hand
of Ronicky; for an instant he struggled with hands and writhing legs,
and then the murderous teeth of Bart sank deeper, found the life. The
dead body was limp, but Bart, shaking his hold deeper to make sure,
glared across to the fallen master.

The third man had died for Grey Molly.

All this had happened in a second, and the body of Barry was still
rolling when a gun flashed