Before that crashing impact
of bone and muscle that had triumphed on many a football field, the
startled outlaw hit the floor with a tremendous thump, while Bert's
sinewy hands tightened on his throat.
But there was no resistance, and after a moment Bert relaxed his grasp.
The rustler's head had struck on the sill of the door and the blow had
rendered him unconscious.
Springing to his feet, Bert grasped the knife that lay on the table, and
sawed desperately at the ends of rope that dangled about his feet. A
few minutes sufficed and he was free. Then he took the revolver from the
belt of his fallen enemy, and, after a swift glance round the clearing,
bolted for the woods like a deer.
He had almost reached cover when he heard a yell behind him and a bullet
zipped past his head. He turned and saw one of the outlaws rushing from
the corral behind the house, while others, attracted by the shot, were
running to mount their horses. Then he dived into the woods and ran for
his life.
Through the forest aisles he slipped like a shadow, and for a time he
more than held his own.
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