[CHAPTER III.]
INTO THE NIGHT.
Cimarron Bill was a man who disliked being outwitted and outdone, especially by a youth of Frank Merriwell's years, and he was one who was not at all likely to let such a thing pass without seeking to recover and accomplish his object by some method, failing in which, he was almost certain to take summary and tragic vengeance on the one who had baffled him.
Merriwell knew well enough in what peril he stood, and yet he maintained his manner of composure.
Bill spoke to two of the ruffians, of whom Big Monte was one, and Sam, the red-headed rascal, the other.
"You two take charge of this here altogether too smarty young gent," said the leader of the desperadoes, "and look out for him a heap close. Don't let him come none of his slick tricks on you, for you will be held responsible for him, and I opines you know what that means."
"Oh, we'll take care of him!" said Sam significantly, as he fingered the butt of a pistol. "All I wants is a right good chance to do that!"
Bill fixed the red-head with a look of his narrow black eyes.
"At the same time," said he, "permit me to suggest that you lets no special harm come to him, as I reckons him valuable property just about now, and I may need him a whole lot later. If anything unnecessary happens to the young gent, you'll deal with me for it!"