Stooping, Shea picked up the body of the second man, the one whom he had stricken senseless. He heaved it up over his shoulder, and returned to the shack. There he lighted a match, got the lamp burning again, and clumsily tied Abel Dorales hand and foot. He rightly considered that the fight was taken out of the two natives.
Dorales evinced no symptoms of recovery. Shea threw some water over the face of his native prisoner, and presently the man sat up and stared around. At sight of Shea’s figure, he shrank back and crossed himself.
“I’ll not hurt you,” said Shea. “Where’s Mackintavers?”
“At the ranch, señor,” whimpered the wide-eyed native.
“Is he coming here?”
“No, señor, not until Señor Dorales sends for him.”
“That will not be for some time.” And Shea smiled. “Do you know where Mrs. Crump is?”
“I heard Señor Dorales say that she would not get there until to-morrow night, señor.”
This explained to Shea why Dorales had planned on cleaning up the sale so hastily. It also set his mind at rest about Mackintavers, whose arrival he had feared.
There was no doubt whatever that Dorales had figured things closely and accurately. Therefore, Mrs. Crump would return upon the following afternoon or evening, and in the meantime no other attempt would be made upon the property.