He had determined that he might as well have the thing out now as later, and discover at once how he stood with these two, and whether or not his suspicions of them were well grounded.
The man ahead had halted at the sound of Barney’s voice, and swung about in the saddle.
“What’s the trouble?” he asked.
“He don’t want to go to the Old Forest,” explained his companion, and for the first time Barney saw one of them grin. It was not at all a pleasant grin, nor reassuring.
“He don’t, eh?” growled the other. “Well, he ain’t goin’, is he? Who ever said he was?”
And then he, too, laughed.
“I’m going back the way I came,” said Barney, starting around the horse that blocked his way.
“No, you ain’t,” said the horseman. “You’re goin’ with us.”
And Barney found himself gazing down the muzzle of one of the wicked looking pistols.
For a moment he stood in silence, debating mentally the wisdom of attempting to rush the fellow, and then, with a shake of his head, he turned back up the trail between his captors.