Lanky grabbed Pete and Skinny on his way out and disappeared into the corral; and very soon thereafter hoof-beats thudded softly in the sandy street and pounded into the darkness of the north, soon lost to the ear.  An uproar of advice and good wishes crashed after them, for the game had begun.

“It’s Powers’ old shack, boys!” shouted a man in the door to the restless force outside, which immediately became more restless.  “Hey!  Don’t go yet!” he begged.  “Wait for me an’ the rest.  Don’t be a lot of idiots!”

Excited and impatient voices replied from the darkness, vexed, grouchy, and querulous.  “Then get a move on—­whoa!—­it’ll be light before we get there if you don’t hustle!” roared one voice above the confusion.  “You know what that means!”

“Come on!  Come on!  For God’s sake, are you tied to the bar?”

“Yo’re a lot of old grandmothers!  Come on!”

Hopalong appeared in the door.  “I’ll show you the way, boys!” he shouted.  “Cowan, put my saddle on yore cayuse—­pronto!”

“Good for you, Hoppy!” came from the street.  “We’ll wait!”

“You stay here; yo’re hurt too much!” cried Buck to his puncher, as he grabbed up a box of cartridges from a shelf behind the bar.  “Ain’t you got no sense?  There’s enough of us to take care of this without you!”

Hopalong wheeled and looked his foreman squarely in the eyes.  “Red’s out there, waiting for me—­I’m going!  I’d be a fine sort of a coyote to leave him in that hell hole an’ not go back, wouldn’t I!” he said, with quiet determination.

“Good for you, Cassidy!” cried a man who hastened out to mount.

“Well, then, come on,” replied Buck.  “There’s blamed few like you,” he muttered, following Hopalong outside.

“Here’s the cayuse, Cassidy,” cried Cowan, turning the animal over to him. “Wait, Buck!” and he leaped into the building and ran out again, shoving a bottle of brandy and a package of food into the impatient foreman’s hand.  “Mebby Red or Hoppy’ll need it—­so long, an’ good luck!” and he was alone in a choking cloud of dust, peering through the darkness along the river trail after a black mass that was swallowed up almost instantly.  Then, as he watched, the moon pushed its rim up over the hills and he laughed joyously as he realized what its light would mean to the crowd.  “There’ll be great doings when that gang cuts loose,” he muttered with savage elation.  “Wish I was with ’em.  Damn Injuns, anyhow!”

Far ahead of the main fighting force rode the three special-duty men, reeling off the miles at top speed and constantly distancing their friends, for they changed mounts at need, thanks to the lead horses provided by Mr. Peters’ cool-headed foresight.  It was a race against dawn, and every effort was made to win—­the life of Red Connors hung in the balance and a minute might turn the scale.