Gus Reeve was running towards the stallion, his rope in action to entangle one of the hindfeet and make sure of his prey; Ronicky Joe had leaped up with a yell and blazed away at Black Bart.
It was no easy mark to strike, for the moment the rope shot out from the hand of Gus, the wolf-dog whirled in his tracks and darted straight for the scene of action.

It was that, perhaps, which troubled the aim of Ronicky more than anything else, for wild animals do not whirl in this fashion and run for an assailant.

He had expected to find himself plugging away at a flying target in the distance; instead, the black monster was rushing straight for him, silently.

Indeed, all that followed was in silence after that first wild Indian yell from Ronicky Joe.

His gun barked, but Black Bart was running like a football player down a broken field, swerving here and there with uncanny speed.