They say his hoss and his dog is
as bad as any two ordinary men. Well, that's three of them and here's three
of us. It's an even break, eh?"
"Ronicky," murmured Sliver, "I always knowed you had the brains. We'll take
this gent and tame him, and run him back to Alder on the end of a rope."
Gus Reeve whooped and waved his hat at the thought.
So the three reached the point where the shadowy walls of the valley
narrowed, drew almost together. There they placed the horses in a hollow
near the southern cliff, and they returned to take post. There was only one
bridle path which wound through the gulch here, and the three concealed
themselves behind a thicket of sagebrush to wait.
They laid their plan carefully. Each man was to have his peculiar duty: Gus
Reeve, an adept with the rope, would wait until the black stallion was
cantering past and then toss his noose and throw the horse. At the same
instant, Ronicky Joe would shoot the wolf-dog, and Sliver Waldron would
perforate Dan Barry while the latter rolled in the dust, unless, indeed, he
was pinioned by the fall of his horse, in which case they would have the
added glory of taking him alive.
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