“Yes.” The other was more composed now. He studied his captor curiously and seemed more at ease. Evidently he was heartened by the fact that Rathburn had said he was not an officer and he believed him.
“I suppose you’re after what I’m carrying on me,” he said with a touch of bitterness. “I guess I’d have 43 had as much chance as I’ve got now if I’d started shootin’ even after you got the drop on me!”
Rathburn laughed harshly. “You never had a chance from the start, if you only knew it,” he jeered. “Why, you upstart, you’re not entitled to any chance!”
The other man’s face darkened in swift anger. “Brave talk,” he said sneeringly. “You’ve got me where you want me, so you can say anything.”
“I’ve got a pile to say,” replied Rathburn shortly. “But this isn’t the time or place to say it. We want to be good an’ away out of that posse’s path––an’ quick.”
“You might as well take what you’re after an’ then each of us can look out for himself,” was the hot retort.
Rathburn looked at the man quizzically. “You’ve got more spunk than I thought,” he mused.
He stared at the other man closely. The bandit could not have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six. He was tall, well-built, blond. His hair and eyes were about the color of Rathburn’s. But Rathburn particularly noted the man’s face, and whatever it was he saw there caused him to shrug and frown deeply.
“What’s your name?” he demanded coldly.
“Percy,” sneeringly replied the other.