“Not as anybody knows of,” said the squawman with a laugh. “You must go on with me up to the other camp. I have been trying for a long time to get hold of you, and now that I have got you I am going to hold fast to you.”
“How far is that camp from here?”
“About thirty-five miles.”
“Did you tell one of the women to saddle my horse?”
“No, because the horse don’t belong to me. The one who took your horse by the bridle and stopped you is the one who laid claim to the horse.”
“And who has my rifle and revolver?”
“They went to some others of the party. Oh, you will never see them again.”
Carl was not much disappointed to hear this. He knew that his valuables were all gone, having become the property of those who helped capture him, but there were certain other things he had that he intended to hold fast to—the revolvers in the breast of his jacket. So long as they were not discovered and taken away from him he would not give up all hope of some day making a dash for his freedom.
“Have you not an extra horse, so that I can ride?” asked Carl.
“No; the women have got all the rest—and they need them, too. You will have to walk; I don’t see any way for you to get around it.”