“All right, I can put you in the attic,” said the man, “but you’ll not be over comfortable.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Jim airily. “We’re used to roughing it.”
“You may be, but your partner don’t look over and above husky,” said the red-bearded man, glancing at Ralph’s slender form, which rather belied the boy’s real strength and activity. He conducted them upstairs and left them in an unceiled attic in which were two rough cots. He took the lamp with him when he went, saying that it was too dangerous to leave a kerosene lamp up there so close to the rafters.
“Don’t sleep too sound,” whispered Jim as they got into their cots. “I’ve a notion that our friend with the vermilion chin coverings isn’t any better than he ought to be. I’m sorry you made that crack about buying ponies; it’s given him the idea that we are carrying a lot of money. I saw it in his eyes as soon as he spoke.”
Ralph hadn’t much to say to this. He realized that he had made a bad mistake and blamed himself bitterly. But he determined to try to retrieve his error by keeping awake to watch for any sudden alarm. But try as he would, his exhausted eyelids drooped as if weighted with lead, and before long, tired nature had asserted her sway and the lad was sound asleep on his rough couch.
Just what hour it was Ralph could not determine, but he was suddenly awakened by a noise as if someone had pushed a chair across the room or had stumbled on it. Broad awake in an instant he sat up in the cot, his every sense alert and his heart throbbing violently.
CHAPTER XXV.
THE OUTLAW RANCH.