But where they could feed they required little attention; and the
cowboys, after halting them, helped Garvin establish the lines of a rope
corral into which they drove the _remuda_. Then they built a fire and
squatted wearily around it--at a respectful distance--to watch the
cook--and to listen to him as he complainingly prepared supper.
The men had finished, and the long shadows of the dusk were stealing out
over the desert, when Lawler--sitting on the chuck-box--heard Blackburn
exclaim sharply:
"_Hell's fire! Here they come!_"
Blackburn had sprung to his feet, his eyes blazing with the pent-up
wrath that had been in them for many days. He was tense, his muscles
straining; and his fingers were moving restlessly near the butt of the
huge pistol that swung at his hip. The fingers were closing and
unclosing, betraying the man's passion.
Lawler got to his feet. Following the direction of Blackburn's flaming
eyes, he saw, perhaps a mile away, a large body of horsemen. They were
descending the long slope over which the herd had been driven.
Lawler counted them--thirty-nine. But the menace was no longer
invisible; it was now a material thing which could be met on such terms
as might be, with the law of chance to govern the outcome.
Lawler did not doubt that the on-coming riders were hostile.
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