Yet, like the automobile searchers, Jeff and Rafe did not expect to run across Tom and Harry and their captors so close to the gully.
For this reason the pair proceeded without very much caution at the outset.
Even now, after Duff and Ashby had sighted them, Moore and Bodson halted twice to light matches and examine the trail that their keen eyes had discovered as moving westward from the gully.
"Now, I reckon we've got the general direction," muttered Rafe Bodson when, after having once more discovered the tracks he turned and got the general course.

"We know the way to head." "Then we won't light any more matches," suggested Jeff.

"It might get us into trouble." Accordingly they kept on, guiding themselves now by their general knowledge of the country.
Jim Duff and Ashby were well concealed, not only by the sand, but by a little fringe of brush as well.
Hence it is not to be wondered at that Bodson and Moore went forward to be astonished by a sudden movement in the sand, followed by a hail of "Gentlemen, get your hands up, or take your medicine!" The command came in Jim Duff's tones.
He was barely thirty feet away from the surprised pair, one of his revolvers leveled so to drop Bodson at a touch of the trigger.
George Ashby's sawed-off shotgun looked squarely at the region bounded by Jeff Moore's belt.
"It's your turn, gentlemen," agreed Rafe, he put his hands in the air.
"You've got us--be decent," grinned Jeff, as he, too, raised his hands upward.
"Get your hands up higher!" ordered Jim Duff in his deadliest tone.
These men were now helpless, and the gambler merely chuckled inwardly at the thought.
"Is this where we shoot them ?" queried the mad hotel keeper.
"Yes--after a minute or two!" nodded Jim Duff, who wished first to determine whether the automobiles of the searching party were moving too near to them.
"I can hardly wait for the word!" quivered Ashby..