“Man––man––you’re not going to do––that!” Sautee’s words came in a hoarse whisper.
“I reckon that’s what I’m goin’ to have to do,” said Rathburn as he bent over the form on the floor of the powder house.
The boy’s eyes were open and were staring into Rathburn’s.
Rathburn lifted him to his feet, where he stood unsteadily. Again the gun was in Rathburn’s hand.
“This party is goin’ to leave us,” he said to the frightened mine manager. “I’m goin’ to step just outside for a minute. It’s your chance to make a break, Sautee; but if you try it I’ll send a bullet into that cap. Maybe you heard somewhere that I can shoot tolerably well,” he concluded in his drawl.
Sautee gripped the sides of the boxes piled behind him.
Rathburn led the boy outside and said quickly: “Just what is this man Carlisle to you?”
A look of fear, remorse, dejection––all commingled and pleading––came into the dark eyes that looked up into his.
Rathburn didn’t wait for a verbal answer.
“Your horse is just up the trail a piece,” he said hurriedly. “Get up there––go up behind the powder house, so the men below can’t see you. Swing off into the timber to the left and get down out of here. I’ll keep their attention. Go home.”