The padding and swish of the sand about the feet of their mounts; the very creaking of the saddle leather seemed to alarm them, and they were continually turning and looking back.

That is, Gus Reeve and Ronicky Joe manifested these signs of trouble, but Sliver Waldron, riding in the center of the trio, never moved his head.

They were hardly well out of the town when a swift rush of hoof beats swept up from behind, and a horseman darted into the pale mist of the valley bending low over his pommel to cut the wind of his riding.
"Who is it ?" "Vic Gregg!" muttered Gus Reeve.

"Stir, along, Sliver.

Vic ain't lingerin' any!" But Sliver Waldron drew rein, and let his horse go on at a walk.
"Hearin' you talk, Ronicky," he said, "you'd think you was really scared of Dan Barry." Ronicky Joe stiffened in his saddle and peered through the uncertain light to make out if Sliver were jesting.