“No, just Lamy. Lamy’s my name, an’ I ain’t ashamed of it. You’d find it out––sooner or later––anyway, I––expect.” He stammered during this speech as if he had just remembered something––remembered when it was too late.
Rathburn noted the frown and the confused expression in Lamy’s eyes. He turned abruptly and walked away.
A few minutes later he came back to find Lamy 59 sitting with his back to a tree, staring unseeing into the deepening twilight.
“Lamy,” he said harshly, “we’re going to get away from this posse––maybe. Anyway, soon’s it’s dark we’ll ride south. It’s just possible we can leave ’em up here in the hills.”
“Suppose I refuse to go?”
“Then I’ll have to truss you up an’ tie you to your horse, an’ don’t think I won’t do it!” The ring of menace in Rathburn’s voice convinced the other, but he made no comment.
When darkness had fallen they saddled their mounts and started. They rode at a jog, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the timber. Rathburn noticed that the valley gradually widened; he showed interest in his surroundings.
Then, off to the left below them, he saw moving shadows. He called a halt at the next clump of trees. “Lamy, are there any horses running in here that you know of?” he asked.
“There probably are,” said Lamy sarcastically; “an’ they’ve probably got riders on ’em.”
“No doubt,” returned Rathburn gravely. “I just saw some shadows that looked like horses down to the left of us.”