They had crossed a hill, and descended into a very narrow ravine which came to so sharp a point that the horses had to be strung out in single file.

The ravine twisted to the right and then the last man of the procession heard the sheriff call: "Halt, there! Up with your hands, or I'll drill you!" When they swung from side to side, craning their heads to look, they made out a shadowy horseman facing Pete head on.

Then the sheriff's voice again: "Gregg, I'm considerable glad to meet up with you." If that meeting had taken place in any other spot probably Gregg would have taken his chance on escaping through the night, but in this narrow pass he could swing to neither side and before he could turn the brown horse entirely around the sheriff might pump him full of lead.

They gathered in a solemn quiet around him; the irons were already upon his wrists.
"All right, boys," he said, "you've got me, but you'll have to give in that you had all the luck." A moment after that sharp command in the familiar, dreaded voice of Pete Glass, Vic had been glad that the lone flight was over.

Eventually this was bound to come.