The plan pleased all, and rapidly descending the slope, four of the most desperate villains in the party mounted and rode away at a rapid trot by the shortest roads they knew, to reach the little valley in advance of Old Pegs, who they knew would return to it before the day was out. But they had eight miles to go, and the route taken by Old Pegs was only four; and when the men rode into the valley they were surprised to see the old hunter before them, running rapidly toward the house. Two or three shots were fired without effect, and Old Pegs disappeared behind the bushes. Dave Farrell heard the shots and darted out, rifle in hand, meeting his friend at the doorway. “Only four of the cusses, Dave,” he said, contemptuously. “We ain’t going to run from sech ez they.” “Not if we know it,” replied the young man, fitting a cap on his rifle with great care. “You take the man on the right as they come in sight, and I’ll see after the one on the left. Then get cover and load.” The horsemen came on at a mad gallop, for they seemed to have Old Pegs in a trap. But, rounding the point of the thicket, they found themselves looking into the muzzles of two deadly rifles, and before they could even check the headlong speed of their horses, two saddles were empty and the borderers had disappeared behind the bushes. Their own rifles were empty, for they had fired at Old Pegs, and had not since loaded, but there was no time to stop and turn. “Forward!” cried one of the men. “We are man to man.” Seeing that they did not attempt to use their rifles, and knowing by this that the weapons were empty, Old Pegs stepped out into the open space and cried “halt!” The command enforced by the leveled revolvers was too much for the two men, and they pulled their horses to a halt. “Git down!” was the next command. “Throw up.” This brief speech meant that they were not only to halt, but to raise their hands above their heads. The men obeyed without demur, for, though the tone of the old hunter was quiet, they felt that it meant business and acted accordingly. “Come hyar.” The two ruffians marched up to the muzzles of the revolvers, each face showing that they felt the tenure of life to be precarious in a high degree. Dave Farrell came forward and took away the weapons of the two men, and bound them hand and foot, while Old Pegs overlooked the work with a cocked revolver in his hand. “Now don’t you seem ter be a couple of low-lived galloots, you two?” growled the hunter, “don’t you seem mean ez pizen?” They looked it certainly, and stood with downcast eyes, evidently uncertain what their fate was to be. “You come hyar ter kill me—kill Old Pegs, a man thet hez tramped these hills for thirty year, man and boy. Didn’t you, now? String ’em up ter thet bush, Dave; we’ll make it hot fur ’em.”