“Then give me a drink.”
Cook laughed harshly. “It’ll do you good to get thirsty. Give you an idea of what we’re going to do with you when we have time.”
They stepped outside and slammed the door. Chuck could hear them conversing outside.
“When are you going to ship the cattle?” asked the unidentified rustler.
“Day after tomorrow. Can’t get cars until then,” replied Cook.
“Well, keep a close eye on Meade. I’m going back to Dirty Water. After the cattle are safely out I’ll come back and we’ll decide just how we’ll dispose of this fellow.”
They mounted their horses and rode rapidly away, leaving Chuck alone, without food or water. The air grew chill, and he spent a miserable night.
It was mid morning when he heard a lone rider coming toward the cabin. The horseman dismounted and opened the door. Like the visitors of the day before he was masked, but he had a jug of water and some food. He untied the ropes that bound Chuck’s hands and, gun in hand, squatted on the other side of the lean-to while Chuck wolfed the food. His lips were cracked from lack of water and his stomach ached with a great emptiness, but the coarse food soon gave him new energy. If the masked rustler would only come close enough for him to lunge. Chuck eyed the distance with a calculating eye.
“Turn around,” commanded the gunman. Chuck was forced to obey, and the rope was slipped over his hands again. The lean-to was in semi-darkness and Chuck managed to tense his hands. Perhaps there would be a little slack when the rustler finished tying the knots.
Chuck was hurled over on his back and the rustler slammed the door and rode away. It was not until Chuck was sure that he was quite alone again, that he renewed his attempt to loosen his bonds. The rope around his wrists gave slightly and he worked steadily, straining against the bonds. Night came and in spite of himself he fell asleep.