Lumley grasped the leader of the other party by the hair, and endeavored to beat him over the head with his revolver butt.

Even as he uplifted his hand to strike, the man's beard fell off, and the two fierce combatants paused as though thunderstruck.
"Hold on yere, boy!" yelled Lumley.

"This yere is some blame joke.
These fellers is Bill McNeil's gang." "By thunder! if it ain't Pete Lumley," ejaculated the other.

"Whut did ye hit me fer, ye long-legged minin' jackass ?" The explanation was never uttered.

Out from the surrounding gloom of underbrush a hatless, dishevelled individual on foot suddenly dashed into the centre of that hesitating ring of horsemen.