CHAPTER VIII
TWO QUEER MOVES
The captive complied with the order, looking at Rathburn in a peculiar way––half disgusted, half contemptuous. Indeed, he turned his back on the other, leaned against the slender trunk of a pine, and stared steadily into the south. He appeared much worried.
The horses welcomed the chance to rest.
Rathburn walked slowly back and forth the width of the patch of timber, vigilantly keeping watch. He paid no attention whatsoever to the man leaning against the tree. For all the interest he displayed he might have completely forgotten his very existence. In time this got on the other’s nerves.
“I believe you lied when you said there was a man killed down there last night,” he said coolly.
“I didn’t say anybody was killed,” Rathburn returned without looking in his direction. “You assumed that part of it.”
“Then you wanted me to think so,” said the other in a loud voice. “You was tryin’ to throw a scare into me!”
Rathburn swung on his heel and stepped squarely in front of him. “I let you think that to show you what might have happened,” he said. “Such things have happened to me an’ swelled the price on my head. Now, darn you, if you talk that loud again I’ll choke your wind off!”
The words came with sinister earnestness, but they seemed to rouse some dormant strain of extraordinary courage in the man to whom they were addressed.