Teddy saw the man’s hand go for his gun. Quick as a flash, the boy drew and the reckless horseman found himself looking into the muzzle of a blue-barreled Colt. With his hand on his belt, the man hesitated, then gave a sneering laugh.
“Kind o’ sudden, ain’t yuh? Well, suppose you speak up an’ tell me what this is all about. I come along this here trail, aimin’ to make the canyon’s end before ten to-night, when a gang of stick-up artists shoves a six-gun down my throat! If it’s money you want—” The man reached in his shirt pocket and drew out some silver, which he threw contemptuously on the ground at Flash’s feet. “Here! That’s all I got. Pretty poor pickin’, hey, boys?”
“Pretty considerable of a fool, you are,” drawled Gus contemptuously.
Teddy’s eyes narrowed.
“Take it easy,” he said in a voice that, somehow, reminded Nick of a taut violin string. “You know we’re not highwaymen. We want to ask you some questions—Reltsur.”
The man started, almost imperceptibly, then recovered his composure.
“Well, I ain’t no encyclopedia of information, but I’ll do the best I can,” he replied sarcastically. “Only hurry up. It’s gettin’ late.”
Teddy made a motion with his head, and Bug Eye moved toward the rider. He reached over and quickly yanked the man’s gun from its holster.
“Playin’ safe, hey? Afraid I’ll pull on yuh with that starin’ me in the face?” and he nodded at the gun Teddy held.
“Never mind that,” Roy said sharply. “We’ll do the asking, and you the answering. First, where’s the rest of your gang?”