The sound broke into a rattling rumble.

There came across the still, keen night a wild, thin, high, shrilling yell, product of many voices.
"It's the Bar O outfit, from the Brazos, coming in," said some one.
The crowd pressed out into the air.

It opened and melted slightly.
The crowd at Curly's shanty increased slightly, silently.

Inside, Curly and his friend still played cards.

The giant prisoner lay asleep upon the floor, stretched out on his thin native wool mattress, his huge bulk filling half the floor.
The rattle of many hoofs swept up to the door of the Cottage, where the restive, nervous horses were left standing while the men went in, their leader, a stocky, red-mustached man, bearing with him the rope which he had loosened from his saddle.