Jimson was not forty feet away from him, and the three outlaws came thundering down with shouted queries and wild oaths of rage. As they drew closer, Ramsay could see them looking from Jimson to the girdling masses of rock, and knew that he was out of their sight. Tom Emery was in the lead, riding like a Centaur, his face like a red blur; behind him were the sullen, scowling Ximines and the more dapper halfbreed Cholo Bill, eyes glittering like dots of jet. They came hurtling down upon Jimson, threw themselves from the saddle and gathered around him with a burst of excited speech. But they came too late; for Jimson, swaying, toppled over as they reached him, and lay quiet—this time forever. The three stared one at another, but only for an instant. “Stick ’em up—_pronto_!” commanded Ramsay’s voice. “Drop the rifles.” A raging oath burst from Emery. All three turned, facing the rock wall and the passage; dismounted, caught in the open, their three dead comrades to serve as warning, they comprehended instantly that they were trapped, snared mercilessly. In silence they obeyed the mandate, but their faces were eloquent as they dropped the rifles and elevated their arms. “Tom Emery,” continued Ramsay, his voice cool and deadly in its slight drawl, “you and Cholo Bill are wanted for the murder of Alec Ramsay last year. Ximines, you can come along on general principles. You take your own pistol and drop it overboard, then relieve your two friends of their weapons. Leave ’em all in a pile. I don’t need much of an excuse to put a bullet into you, so watch out you don’t give it to me.” The scowling Mexican deposited his own pistol and those of the others in the dust. “Now step forward!” Ramsay rose, rifle at his shoulder. “Step forward, please! All three—that’s right. Walk right through the hole in the wall, and don’t walk too fast. The hand is quicker than the foot, gentlemen. Now into the hole—you first, señor Ximines, then Cholo Bill, and Mr. Emery last. Close together, and slowly.” He strode forward as the three came to the passage that gave on to the outer cañon. Their eyes glittered on him with unspeakable rage, but they said not a word. In the order assigned, they entered the cleft, and Ramsay brought up the rear with the muzzle of his rifle thrust against the back of the gigantic Emery, whose red whiskers were bristling with suppressed fury. Ramsay chuckled, as he marched them forward. “I expect you’re due for a shave before long, Mr. Emery, and a free haircut to boot. Keep right ahead of each other, gentlemen, and walk straight out into the daylight. When you are safely taken care of, well all start out and have a nice little walk over to town, and interview Mr. Crowfoot. Now, everybody, four steps forward, then halt and about-face.”