“About twenty miles,” replied the cowman.
XXI
TURNING THE TABLES
The moonlight had given place to darkness, and Alex was thoroughly exhausted from his long walk when the fence of a corral, then a group of small buildings, loomed up, and his captor announced that they were at their destination.
“Do you live here all alone?” Alex asked, seeing no lights.
“Since you fellows captured Bucks—yes,” responded the cowboy, halting at the corral bars. Dismounting, he whipped saddle and bridle from the pony as it passed inside, and replacing the bars, led the way to the house.
It was a small, meagerly-furnished room that a match, then a lamp, disclosed. Against the rear wall was a small stove, in the center a rough table, at either end a low cot, and in one corner a cupboard. Two or three chairs, some pictures and calendars and two or three saddles completed the contents. The floor was of hard earth.
“That’ll be your bunk there,” said the owner, indicating one of the cots. “And you can turn in just as soon as you like.”