“The next one bores you in the back, MacLeod!”
He stopped then, and whirled in his tracks.
Lane stood at the edge of his roof, his rifle-butt at his cheek.
“Come back here!”
“You ain’t got the right to hold me up, Lane. I’ll have the law on ye!”
“Come back here!”
There was a grate in the tone, a menace not to be braved.
The young man shuffled slowly towards the cabin, roaring oaths and insults to which Lane deigned no reply.
MacLeod did not try to run when the warden disappeared for his trip to the door. He waited sullenly.
Near the door was a good-sized, empty cage of strong saplings, built in “Ladder” Lane’s abundant leisure, for the reception of any new candidate for the menagerie. The old man jerked his head sideways at it. There was a gap of three saplings in the side, and the poles stood there ready to be set in.