“How many are there here, Thompson?” he uttered, abruptly pausing beside a tall, muscular frame.
“Seventeen, by my count, Cap’n Jap,” replied the man, with the stumpy pipe still clenched betwixt his teeth. “Thar’s two more yit—Colton an’ Marcks.”
“Can it be that he suspects the purpose of our meeting to-night? The soft-headed fool may have seen his brother since then, and as he knows the laws of our band, that would put him on his guard. Let him beware! He’d better cut his own throat than to prove false to us now.”
“True es preachin’, Cap’n Jap,” quoth Thompson. “We’d sarve him wuss’n we did Hans Koch. But he’ll be here, I reckon. He’s most al’ays behindhan’.”
“Start the fire, Jim. We must have light for the drawing. Ha! there comes some one now!”
“Yas—an’ it’s him, too. He rides the only racker in the band.”
“Good!” then adding in a low, rapid tone. “You must watch him close, Thompson. When he learns what is on the boards, he may cut up nasty. Keep close enough to him to grab him if I give the word. You understand?”
“Bet ye—I’ll do it, never fear,” muttered the man, as he gathered a handful of dried leaves and grass.
“Well, Colton,” sternly uttered the man addressed as Captain Jap—his name being Jasper Morton—turning to the last comer, “you are late, as usual.”
“I could not help it, Captain Morton. I was kept—”