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Then came the favourite and her stable-companion, rising fence for fence; after them a chain of stragglers; and bringing up the rear, rollicking along with his head in his chest, revelling in his work, the twenty-to-one outsider. "So far so good," said Mat, "as the man said when he was 'alf-way through cuttin' his throat."
The only thing to do was wait until they attacked and then smash the attack. "Hernan," he said, his eyes still watching the outside, "you and the others get out there with the carriers after the first volley. Cut them down. They're twenty-to-one against us, so make every blow count. Move." Hernan nodded wordlessly and slipped away.
"Boys, we've overplayed. We don't want THESE people McNamara's our meat. Old bald-face up yonder has to do what he's told, and I'm ag'in' this twenty-to-one midnight work. I'm goin' home." There were some whisperings, then the original spokesman called for Judge Stillman. The old man tottered to the window, a palsied, terror-stricken object. The girl was glad he could not be seen from below.
He looked down at Pringle's face, at Pringle's working fingers, opening and shutting avariciously; he sneered. "Don't you wish you may get it? S-sh! Hear what the old man's saying." During the whispered colloquy the old ranger had kept on: "There's where he is, a twenty-to-one shot! He'll lay quiet, likely, thinkin' we'll miss him.
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