Owen grinned, and with the deliberation that had marked the previous
blow he again brought the rifle stock down, smashing the remaining
hand. That, too, disappeared, and Dale's screaming curses filled the
cabin.
Owen waited. Twice more the hands came up, and twice more Owen crushed
them with the rifle butt. At last, though Owen waited for some time,
the hands came up no more. Then, slowly, cautiously, Owen stuck his
head over the top of the partition.
Dale's head had fallen forward; he was swinging slowly back and forth,
his body limp and lax.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE AMBUSH
Streak had done well, having slightly improved on the limit set for the
trip by Mary Bransford. With no delay whatever, Williams and his men
and the Double A cowpunchers were headed for the ranchhouse, their
horses running hard.
Sanderson was leading them, though close behind came several of the
Double A men, their faces set and grim; and then one of Williams' men,
a young fellow who had admired Mary Bransford from afar; then some more
of the Double A men, and Williams and the remainder of his band of
engineers.
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