Penelope could see Lonergan's purpose. He was a gambler and playing at his game. He told everything that would occupy time, knowing that at any minute some of the men would be returning from Red Oak. He was betting that the masked man could never use that information.
She saw the tall stranger apparently considering the offer to join the gang. Why, in the name of Heaven, couldn't this masked man realize what Lonergan was doing? Why didn't he come here with some concrete plan instead of bungling in to find himself so helpless, even though he held a gun on the others?
"You have a pretty well-greased machine for stealing cattle," the Lone Ranger said in admiration, "and as you say, it would be almost impossible for me to do much in fighting against you."
"That's right," agreed Lonergan. "Now put up that gun and take off the mask, an' we'll talk."
"But first tell me who I'm taking orders from."
"Sawtell."
The masked man shook his head.
"There's someone giving him orders; who is that?"
A crafty look came into Lonergan's cadaverous face.