The madness that was in Buell was the madness to get out,
to escape the consequences of his acts. His grunts and pants as he worked
showed his desperate energy. Then he slammed the axe against the wall, and,
going down flat, began to crawl through the opening. Buell was a thick man,
and the hole appeared too small. He stuck in it, but he squeezed and
flattened himself, finally worked through, and disappeared.
A sudden quiet fell upon his departure.
"Hands up!"
Jim Williams's voice! It was strange to see Herky and Bud flash up their
arms without turning. But I wheeled quickly. Bill, too, had his hands high
in the air.
In the sunlight of the doorway stood Jim Williams. Low down, carelessly, it
seemed, he held two long revolvers. He looked the same easy, slow Texan I
remembered. But the smile was not now in his eyes, and his lips were set in
a thin, hard line.
XVI. THE FOREST'S GREATEST FOE
Jim Williams sent out a sharp call. From the canyon-slope came answering
shouts. There were sounds of heavy bodies breaking through brush, followed
by the thudding of feet. Then men could be plainly heard running up the
trail. Jim leaned against the door-post, and the three fellows before him
stood rigid as stone.
Suddenly a form leaped past Jim. It was Dick Leslie, bareheaded, his hair
standing like a lion's mane, and he had a cocked rifle in his hands.
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