Detectives will search this community in squads, and everyone of these masked gentlemen is likely to get his deserts." Within the next half hour the galloping horses had covered fully five miles.

Now the leader of the crowd led the way down into a deep gully in the sand.
"Hold up, men," ordered the leader, and the cavalcade came to a stop, horses panting.
"Tumble the cattle off into the dirt," was the next order, and it was obeyed, Tom and Harry rolling in the bitter alkali dust.
"Now, gentlemen, I believe I will take command," spoke one of the party of horsemen, in his most suave voice, as he removed his mask.

The speaker, as Reade knew at once, was Jim Duff, the gambler.
"That's all right, Jim," nodded the former leader.
"Jake, ride back a few hundred yards and keep a sharp lookout," suggested Duff blandly.

"The pursuers may come in automobiles.

We'll cut the ceremonies here short and leave nothing but lifeless bodies for the rescue parties to find." Stakes were driven and the horses picketed.
"Bring along our guests," suggested Jim Duff, with a touch of humor that the occasion rendered grisly.
Thereupon Tom and Harry were once more jerked to their feet.
"Ye can walk, I reckon, and don't have be toted," observed one of the scoundrels.
"We're wholly at your service, sir," rejoined Tom mockingly.
"And equally at your pleasure," Harry suggested dryly.
Two hundred yards further on the halted close to a pair of stunted trees of about the same size.
"Gentlemen, you may as well remove your masks on this hot evening," suggested Jim Duff.