The restless movements of Tull's men suddenly quieted down. Then
followed a low whisper, a rustle, a sharp exclamation.
"Look!" said one, pointing to the west.
"A rider!"
Jane Withersteen wheeled and saw a horseman, silhouetted against
the western sky, coming riding out of the sage. He had ridden
down from the left, in the golden glare of the sun, and had been
unobserved till close at hand. An answer to her prayer!
"Do you know him? Does any one know him?" questioned Tull,
hurriedly.
His men looked and looked, and one by one shook their heads.
"He's come from far," said one.
"Thet's a fine hoss," said another.
"A strange rider."
"Huh! he wears black leather," added a fourth.
With a wave of his hand, enjoining silence, Tull stepped forward
in such a way that he concealed Venters.
The rider reined in his mount, and with a lithe forward-slipping
action appeared to reach the ground in one long step. It was a
peculiar movement in its quickness and inasmuch that while
performing it the rider did not swerve in the slightest from a
square front to the group before him.
"Look!" hoarsely whispered one of Tull's companions. "He packs
two black-butted guns--low down--they're hard to see--black akin
them black chaps."
"A gun-man!" whispered another. "Fellers, careful now about
movin' your hands."
The stranger's slow approach might have been a mere leisurely
manner of gait or the cramped short steps of a rider unused to
walking; yet, as well, it could have been the guarded advance of
one who took no chances with men.
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