Hanscom mockingly chimed in. "That's mighty fine and self-sacrificing, but it won't do. The rider who fired that shot was a man. But I'll leave it to Henry. Bring around the horses, and remember, if you slip out with that bay horse I'll know you rode the sorrel yesterday."
The situation had become too complicated for the girl, who fell silent, while Busby cursed the ranger in fierce, set terms. "What right have you got to arrest us, anyhow?"
"All the right I need. That shooting began inside the forest boundary, and it's my duty to see that you are placed in the hands of the law." Here his voice took on a note of grim determination. "And I want you to understand there will be no funny business on the way down."
"How can I ride, all tied up like this?" demanded the ruffian.
"Oh, I'm going to untie you, and you are going to come along quietly—either as live stock or freight—you can take your choice."
Busby, subdued by several hours on the floor, was disposed to do as he was told, and Hanscom unbound his legs and permitted him to rise.
As young Kitsong brought the horses around in front of the cabin, Hanscom was not disappointed in finding the girl's saddle on the sorrel. He made no comment.
"Now, Busby, we'll mount you first," he said, and slipped the bridle from the horse. "You see, to make sure of you I am going to lead your pony." He then untied the youth's hands. "Climb on!" he commanded.
Busby silently mounted to his saddle, the girl took the sorrel, and at command Kitsong started down the trail.
"You go next," said Hanscom to the girl, "now you, Busby," he added, and with the rope across the horse's rump—the trick of a trained trailer—he started down the trail.