He tugged at the reins, trying to turn the cart about. Cutter, with his jack-knife, parted the reins just back of the bit.
“You'll stay where you are, m' son, for a while. We're not going to hurt you. But you are not going back to town till we say so. Did you pass anybody on the road out of town?”
In reply to the Leaguers' questions, the young butcher at last told them he had passed a two-horse buggy and a lot of men on horseback just beyond the railroad tracks. They were headed for Los Muertos.
“That's them, all right,” muttered Annixter. “They're coming by this road, sure.”
The butcher's horse and cart were led to one side of the road, and the horse tied to the fence with one of the severed lines. The butcher, himself, was passed over to Presley, who locked him in Hooven's barn.
“Well, what the devil,” demanded Osterman, “has become of Bismarck?”
In fact, the butcher had seen nothing of Hooven. The minutes were passing, and still he failed to appear.
“What's he up to, anyways?”
“Bet you what you like, they caught him. Just like that crazy Dutchman to get excited and go too near. You can always depend on Hooven to lose his head.”
Five minutes passed, then ten. The road towards Guadalajara lay empty, baking and white under the sun.