He was holding his revolvers by the
muzzles. "Never mind who I am. I haven't time. Say, you'd better come
with me. Maybe we can head off those villains. They came this way and--"
"Show 'em to me," roared Anderson, recognising a friend. Rage surged up
and drove out the shame in his soul. "I'll tackle the hull caboodle,
dang 'em!" And he meant it, too.
Blake did not stop to explain, but started on, commanding Mr. Crow to
follow. With rare fore-thought the marshal donned his yellow beard as he
panted in the trail of the lithe young actor. The latter remembered that
the odds were heavily against him. The marshal might prove a valuable
aid in case of resistance, provided, of course, that they came upon the
robbers in the plight he was hoping for.
"Where the dickens are you a-goin'?" wheezed the marshal, kicking up a
great dust in the rear. The other did not answer. His whole soul was
enveloped in the hope that the washout had trapped the robbers. He was
almost praying that it might be so. The reward could be divided with the
poor old marshal if--
He gave a yell of delight, an instant later, and then began jumping
straight up and down like one demented. Anderson Crow stopped so
abruptly that his knees were stiff for weeks. Jackie Blake's wild dream
had come true. The huge automobile had struck the washout, and it was
now lying at the base of the bluff, smashed to pieces on the rocks! By
the dim light from the heavens, Blake could see the black hulk down
there, but it was too dark to distinguish other objects.
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