“Come, we have lost time enough. Mount and let’s be going. We’ll make a clean sweep of the corrals, too, while about it. Thompson, you and I will keep our friend, here, company,” and Morton glanced significantly at his acolyte.
The little band filed forth from the woods, and then set out over the prairie at a rapid gallop—the one gait of Morton’s horsemen. They had only a few miles to travel, and of that they made short work.
Jack Colton rode between Thompson and Morton, his head bowed as though strongly agitated. The outlaw chief was in high spirits. Whatever may have been his object, he was greatly pleased with the course affairs had that night taken.
“Yonder’s the ranche,” muttered Thompson, slackening his pace. “Now, what’s the programme, old man?”
“Well, our first care is to see that Colton, here, does his duty. Either you or I can go with him to the door, just to keep his courage up, you know; the other can take charge of the men and go through the stables and corral.”
“Jest as you say, Cap’n Jap. But how’d we best work it—bu’st in an’ take the critter by s’prise, or knock ’im up?”
“Best rap at the door. He’ll think it’s all right when he hears Jack’s voice. And as for you, my man,” addressing Colton, “remember that your life depends upon how you act this night. Thompson, you will keep him covered with your pistol, and at the first sign of treachery, drop him. You hear me?”
“Yas—I’ll do it, too, so mind yer eye, ole boy,” and the tall ruffian uttered an oath to bind his threat.
“You waste a great many words. I have to do this deed, and I will do it. Why do you threaten so much?” quietly added Colton.
“Because I don’t half-trust you. I believe you are a traitor at heart, and I am half-sorry that I gave you another chance at the grove. But take care! You’d better have been born dead than to attempt any treachery toward us now. While one of the band lives, your life will be in peril.”