He was in amongst them; somewhere, in all that pile of blue crests and purple canyons he was hidden away.

Now for weeks of searching, false alarms, clews, trailings, watchings, all the thrill and heart-bursting excitement of a man-hunt.
Would he get away?
Hardly a man on the sidewalks of the town that day who did not hope for it.
As Annixter's team trotted through the central portion of the town, young Vacca pointed to a denser and larger crowd around the rear entrance of the City Hall.

Fully twenty saddle horses were tied to the iron rail underneath the scant, half-grown trees near by, and as Annixter and Hilma drove by, the crowd parted and a dozen men with revolvers on their hips pushed their way to the curbstone, and, mounting their horses, rode away at a gallop.
"It's the posse," said young Vacca.
Outside the town limits the ground was level.

There was nothing to obstruct the view, and to the north, in the direction of Osterman's ranch, Vacca made out another party of horsemen, galloping eastward, and beyond these still another.
"There're the other posses," he announced.

"That further one is Archie Moore's.