At least twice each night thereafter he was asked the same questions, and each time the interview ended in a blow or a violent kick until Chunky was sore all over.
Occasionally he was permitted to sit or lie outdoors, and at such times Stacy used his eyes and ears to the best advantage. However, there was little for him to see except the scenery that he mentioned in his letter.
His captors were away most of the time, though ordinarily there was one man prowling about, principally engaged in surveying the surrounding mountains from a vantage point on a rock. Then one evening came the order to Stacy to write the letter to the Overland party. He obeyed eagerly, for he was anxious to get away at any price—so long as the price was paid by someone other than himself. Stacy had slight hopes, though, that his companions would give so great a ransom.
It was early in the evening of the following night when he heard more than the usual number of voices in the cabin. Voices now and then were pitched high, sometimes in anger. Stacy cautiously rolled close to the door communicating with the cabin and lay listening. His hopes rose high when he learned that some of the birds had returned with money. Two of the ruffians had come in with tidings that four birds were still missing, which revealed to Stacy the fact that the pigeons were not kept at the cabin. The one, however, which carried the answer to the demand of the rustlers, and that most concerned the men, had just come in, and its message was a subject of discussion. One ruffian was of the opinion that either Bindloss or the Overlanders were trying to play a sharp trick on them and search out their hiding place. He was laughed at.
“How kin anybody foller er bird flyin’ high?” demanded another, whereat the ruffians laughed more uproariously than before. The feel of the money that the pigeons had brought, outweighed their caution. This was easy money, and there was more of it coming.
“We’ll git all we kin fer this feller, an’ then make a price on t’other feller’s haid, an’ we’ll make er clean-up,” chuckled another. “It ain’t the first time thet them birds has done us a good turn, but never jest in this heah way.”
At the mention of another captive on whose head a price was to be set, the fat boy pricked up his ears. He wondered whom else the ruffians had captured, and where the other captive was being held. This was interesting, but what followed was more so.
From the talk Stacy overheard he learned that, after the ruffians had gotten all the money they could out of the Overlanders, the prisoners were to be disposed of.
“They knows too much to let ’em git away, especially thet fat feller. He’s too fresh anyway,” averred one.
“Best way is to take ’em out on a dark night, turn ’em ’round a few times and head ’em fer the canyon, an’ tell ’em to git home a-whooping. Ain’t no need fer us to do nothing more’n thet. They’ll do the rest,” advised another.