But, guarded as his action was, the first horse detected it.

He stopped short, snorted, and shot up his ears.

The rustler bent forward, as if keenly peering ahead.

Then, with a swift sweep, he jerked a gun from its sheath and fired.
The bullet zipped through the sage-brush.

Flying bits of wood struck Venters, and the hot, stinging pain seemed to lift him in one leap.
Like a flash the blue barrel of his rifle gleamed level and he shot once--twice.
The foremost rustler dropped his weapon and toppled from his saddle, to fall with his foot catching in a stirrup.