“What is the trouble?” he demanded.
“I want to have a talk with you,” the man said in a low tone. “Can’t I come outside? I don’t want to awaken your comrades.”
Wondering what the fellow had in mind; but believing himself capable of caring for him, Late said:
“All right! Come on! But understand that if you attempt to run away I’ll let daylight through you.”
Master Turnbull made no reply to the threat; but, rising, followed Late into the open air. It was starlight, not very dark, and quite warm. Sitting on a rock, a rod or two from the shack, the prisoner began to fan himself with his hat.
“My!” he cried. “I’m glad to get into the fresh air. It was so hot in there, I couldn’t sleep.”
“Nevertheless, you’ll go back faster than you came out, if you don’t hurry up an’ tell me what’s on your mind,” Late growled, beginning to grow suspicious of the fellow.
“I want to get away,” he said, coming immediately to the subject in hand.
“Of course you do,” the lad retorted. “I should if I was in your place,” and he changed the position of his gun as token that he was not to be trifled with.
The captive noted the movement, but was not disconcerted by it. “I can make it an object for you to go to sleep, and let me steal away,” he continued.