"You bet--until they go by," Hardy agreed.
"Red" stepped forward. "Back, everybody!" he ordered. He pushed everyone
farther back into the room, until they were all crowded in one corner.
Uncle Henry was trembling like a leaf. How he wished he had never been
brought to this strange country! Oh, for the peace of Bangor, Maine!
_There_ was a place for you! Down here it was all shooting, killing, and
desperate trouble. Having escaped one crisis, was it possible the fates
were to be so unkind as to put him in the way of another, from which there
might be no extrication? Curse the luck, anyhow. Gol darn it!
The hoof beats came nearer and nearer. There were more shots. A man
dismounted near the door. Then a man on horseback galloped up to the very
entrance of the adobe. There was a general movement without, but no one
ventured to go out and see what had happened. They could hear voices,
sharp commands, and far off one more shot. Someone cried, "Keep on after
him, boys!"
A ranger came in. He was an angular fellow, with a bushy mustache, and eyes
like a ferret. His gun was on his hip, and one hand never left it. His name
was Bradley. Gilbert knew him well. Often had he met him in the hills.
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