When the thief heard the command, he hesitated, as if unwilling to obey it.
“I guess you hadn’t better insist on that,” he said, with a half laugh, full of significance.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“If you start to foller me to the camp, my pard, just behind you, will give it to you in the neck.”
This was alarming, and for a moment Nick was in doubt what to do. If he should start to drive the horse thief before him, only to find that his armed companion was doing the same with him, the tables would be turned in the highest style of the art.
But the youth’s brightness came to his aid. He knew that if this man had a comrade in his wrong doing, he would have put in an appearance before matters had reached this interesting stage: he never would have remained in the background, while Nick was securing the drop on the other.
He had no one with him. He was alone, and was trying a trick on his captor.
“Walk on,” said Nick; “when your partner shows up, we’ll attend to his case.”
The rogue saw there was no help for it, and, without another word of protest, walked sullenly in the direction of the camp fire.
The prisoner seemed to have concluded that, inasmuch as he had to submit, his true plan was to do so gracefully. He walked with a certain dignity along the line pointed out, while Nick kept a few paces to the rear, with his Winchester ready for instant call.