“Nothin’ much ’cept—” The words ended in a moan, and old Sam Conifer, staggering forward a pace, crumpled down to the floor and lay still.
CHAPTER XX
STACY WIELDS A CLUB
Stacy Brown’s face wore a serious expression as his captors started away with him. His pony was free, but there were men ahead of and behind him, men whose faces were stern and threatening. The rifle had been taken from the boot of his saddle and his revolvers were gone. He was as helpless as a child, but the fat boy was watching for an opportunity to escape.
“Where are you taking me?” he demanded after they had galloped on for the better part of an hour.
“You’ll see when you git thar,” was the brief reply.
“You don’t say,” retorted Chunky, whereupon he was ordered to keep silent.
Soon after that a collection of ranch buildings was seen nestling below in the foothills, which were regarded with interest by the Overland boy as his captors headed for them. As they neared the ranch, a few men appeared and with shaded eyes watched the approach. When the captors finally pulled up before the ranch, a thin, tall, bronzed man came out and bent a keen gaze on Chunky.
“What have you got heah?” he demanded.
“Feller we caught with the mustang thet was stolen the other night,” replied one of the captors.
“So? A hoss thief, eh?”