“Take your time,” said Rathburn sarcastically; “there’s nobody after you but the sheriff, an’ he probably won’t be along for a minute or two.”
“It won’t do you no good for him to find us here,” said the other boldly.
Rathburn’s eyes blazed. “I reckon you’re forgettin’ that Bob Long knows I travel alone,” he said hotly. “He savvys I don’t travel with a crowd. I ain’t found it necessary so far, an’ I ain’t aiming to start. I counted eight in your gang––to hold up one stage, eh?” He concluded with a sneer, while the other shifted nervously in his saddle and cast a quick look back over his shoulder. There seemed no one there.
“You needn’t be lookin’ around,” Rathburn said coldly. “You’re goin’ to stay here till you answer my question, if all the sheriffs in Arizona come ridin’ up meanwhile. Who’s headin’ your gang?”
“That ain’t professional,” the fugitive grumbled. “You’re just the same as one of us.”
Then, seeing the look that came into Rathburn’s eyes, he said hastily: “Mike Eagen planned the lay.”
“I guessed it,” said Rathburn in a tone of contempt. “Well, you better slope while you’ve still got a chance.”
He motioned to the man to go, and the latter rode at a gallop up the arroyo and out of sight. Rathburn’s face wore a worried scowl, as he slid his gun into its holster, whirled his horse, and speedily climbed the east side of the arroyo.
From a vantage point he caught sight again of 182 the horsemen racing up from the south. They were much nearer, and he could readily make out the members of the sheriff’s posse. He had had experience with posses before.
Striking around the crest of the high ground which formed the east side of the arroyo, he again raced toward the range of mountains in the east, taking advantage of every bit of cover which offered concealment from the riders approaching at top speed from the south.