He looked inquiringly at his captive—with the same wondering surliness. Nor could he understand another thing which was evident. After the first shock of resistance the major had exhibited none of the indignation of a betrayed man, but actually seemed to accept the situation with a calmness that his captor lacked. His voice was quite unemotional as he said:
“And how are you going to get me away from here?”
“That's MY look out, and needn't trouble you, major; but, seein' as how confidential you've been to me, I don't mind tellin' you. Last night that posse of mine that you 'skunked,' you know, halted at the cross roads till them sojers went by. They has only to SEE THEM to know that I had got away. They'll hang round the cross roads till they see my signal on top of the ridge, and then they'll make another show against that pass. Your men will have their hands full, I reckon, without huntin' for YOU, or noticin' the three men o' mine that will come along this ridge where the sojers come yesterday—to help me get you down in the same way. You see, major, your little trap in that gully ain't in this fight—WE'RE THE OTHER SIDE OF IT. I ain't much of a sojer, but I reckon I've got you there! And it's all owing to YOU. I ain't,” he added gloomily, “takin' much pride in it MYSELF.”
“I shouldn't think you would,” said the major, “and look here! I'll double that offer I made you just now. Set me down just as I am on the deck of some coasting vessel, and I'll pay you four thousand dollars. You may have all the glory of having captured me, HERE, and of making your word good before your posse. But you can arrange afterwards on the way to let me give you the slip somewhere near Sacramento.”
The sheriff's face actually brightened. “Thanks for that, major. I was gettin' a little sick of my share in this job, but, by God, you've put some sand in me. Well, then! there ain't gold enough in all Californy to make me let you go. You hear me; so drop that. I've TOOK you, and TOOK ye'll remain until I land you in Sacramento jail. I don't want to kill you, though your life's forfeit a dozen times over, and I reckon you don't care for it either way, but if you try any tricks on me I may have to MAIM ye to make you come along comf'able and easy. I ain't hankerin' arter THAT either, but come you shall!”
“Give your signal and have an end of this,” said the major curtly.
The sheriff looked at him again curiously. “I never had my hands in another man's pockets before, major, but I reckon I'll have to take your derringers from yours.” He slipped his hand into the major's waistcoat and secured the weapons. “I'll have to trouble you for your sash, too,” he said, unwinding the knitted silken girdle from the captive's waist. “You won't want it, for you ain't walking, and it'll come in handy to me just now.”
He bent over, and, passing it across the major's breast with more gentleness and solicitude than he had yet shown, secured him in an easy sitting posture against the tree. Then, after carefully trying the knots and straps that held his prisoner, he turned and lightly bounded up the hill.
He was absent scarcely ten minutes, yet when he returned the major's eyes were half closed. But not his lips. “If you expect to hold me until your posse comes you had better take me to some less exposed position,” he said dryly. “There's a man just crossed the gully, coming into the brush below in the wood.”
“None of your tricks, major!”