"The road curves here a little among the rocks," said the sergeant,
who unconsciously took command. "Suppose we stop, sheltered by the
curve, and ask them what they want."
"The very thing to do," said Dick.
"Sass 'em, sergeant! Sass 'em!" said Red Blaze.
They drew their horses back partially in the shadow of the rocky curve,
but the sergeant was a little further forward than the others. Dick saw
Skelly and a score of men emerge into the road and come rapidly toward
them. They were a wild-looking crew, mounted on tough mountain ponies,
all of them carrying loot, and all armed heavily.
The sergeant threw up his rifle, and with a steady hand aimed straight
at Skelly's heart.
"Halt!" he cried sharply, "and tell me who you are!"
The whole crew seemed to reel back except Skelly, who, though stopping
his horse, remained in the center of the road.
"What do you mean?" he cried. "We're peaceful travelers. What business
is it of yours who we are?"
"Judgin' by your looks you're not peaceful travelers at all. Besides
these ain't peaceful times an' we take the right to demand who you are.
If you come on another foot, I shoot."
The sergeant's tones were sharp with resolve.
"Your name!" he continued.
"Ramsdell, David Ramsdell," replied the leader of the band.
"That's a lie," said Sergeant Whitley. "Your name is Bill Skelly,
an' you're a mountaineer from Eastern Kentucky, claimin' to belong first
to one side and then to the other as suits you.
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