“You threaten us!” he said—“you, whose pistol slew our chief! I saw it all! But for your weapon Donatus would be living now. This for Donatus!”
Like a stroke of lightning he drove his knife into Maro’s bosom.
The valley was left far behind. The stars were beginning to pale. Still that muffled figure astride the horse in advance led them on.
They had trusted him. He had led them to the waiting and saddled horses, and he had led them from the valley, near the entrance to which another dark figure lay prone, but squirmed and rolled to get away from the hoofs of the passing horses.
But Brad Buckhart could stand it no longer. He urged his horse to the side of the mysterious figure, about whose shoulders the robe flapped in the wind.
“Hold on here, you!” cried the Texan. “You told us my pard had bribed you, but we reckoned we would combine with him a heap soon after leaving that cave. Where is he?”
“When we leave cave you see man on ground, tied, gagged, still?”
“Sure thing.”
“That not him. You see ’nother man when we ride out from vallee?”