Page:Clarence Mulford - Man from Bar-20.djvu/195

 The End of a Trail for the horse was on the ridge again, a bold, skyline target for any eye within a mile.

"Th' journey home will be yore last!" he gritted furiously, slipping down the steep incline as rapidly as he dared. "We'll see if you can bust my rope, doubled twice! If you strain at th' rig I'm goin' to fix, you'll choke yoreself to death, d—n you!"

Driving it back into the thicket he fastened it to a sapling with the lariat, doubled twice; and the noose around the animal's neck was a cleverly tied slip-knot.

"Now, d—n you!" he blazed, kicking the horse savagely. "Take that, an' that, an' that!"

Reaching up to readjust the rope he suddenly froze in his tracks as a crisp voice hailed him.

"Keep 'em up!" said Johnny, stepping into view. "Turn around—keep 'em up!"

Cool as ice and perfectly composed, Ackerman slowly obeyed and scowled into the muzzle of a leveled Colt, waiting for his chance.

"A man that treats a cayuse like that ain't hardly worth a bullet," said Johnny. "If you'd 'a' looked at them reins you'd 'a' seen th' knife-pricks."

Ackerman smiled grimly with understanding, but made no answer.

"Sorry that human ramrod ain't with you," continued Johnny. "If I'd knowed he was a friend of 183