CHAPTER XXXI
GONE
Motionless in his saddle, save for an occasional restless stamp of his horse, Bud Jessup waited patiently in front of the adobe shack at Las Vegas camp. His face was serious and thoughtful, and his glance was fixed on the open door through which came the broken, indistinguishable murmur of Buck Stratton’s voice. Once, thinking he heard an unusual sound, the youngster turned his head alertly and stared westward through the shadows. But a moment later his eyes flashed back to that narrow, black oblong, and he resumed his uneasy pondering as to what Buck might possibly be finding out.
Suddenly he gave a start as Stratton’s voice, harsh, startled, came to him distinctly.
“Mary! Mary! Why don’t you answer? What’s happened?”
The words were punctuated by a continuous rattle, and ended abruptly with the clatter of metal against metal.
“Hell!” rasped Buck, in a hoarse, furious voice with 302 an undercurrent of keen apprehension that made Bud’s nerves tingle. “The wire’s been cut!”
An instant later he appeared, running. Snatching the reins, he gained the saddle in a single bound, jerked his horse around, and was off across the pasture.