They came from the neighbourhood of the town.

"Summat's up," exclaimed Rory. "Let's investigate."

The three men seized their rifles and ran up the ridge
that overlooked the bend of the trail They peered into
the grey moonlit night in the direction of the township.

At first they could see nothing, but a desultory shot or
two rang out, and it seemed to them that they were nearer
than before. At last, round a bend in the trail, they
caught sight of a dark figure running towards them.

"It must be one of the Police or Pasmore," said the
rancher.

At last they saw this man's pursuers. There were only
three of them, and one stopped at the turn, the other
two keeping on. Now and again one of them would stop,
kneel on the snow, and take aim at the flying figure.
But moonlight is terribly deceptive, and invariably makes
one fire high; moreover, when one's nerves are on the
jump, shooting is largely chance work.

"'Pears to me," remarked Rory, "thet this 'ere ain't what
you'd 'xactly call a square game. Thet joker in the lead
is gettin' well nigh played out, an' them two coves
a-follerin' are gettin' the bulge on 'im. Shure an' I'm
thinkin' they're friends av yourn, Lagrange, but they
wants stoppin'. What d'ye say?"