There were tears of anger in the eyes of the fat boy as he sat up and rubbed himself.
“I wish I had a gun! Oh, I wish I had a gun!” he raged.
After the peak of his rage had been passed, Stacy began to take account of his surroundings. On either side of him were huge mows of hay already laid up for the stock that would have to be wintered on the ranch, but finally, weariness overcoming him, the Overland boy stretched out on the barn floor and went to sleep. He did not awaken until twilight when a boot, coming into violent contact with his person, brought him up, once more in a belligerent mood.
“Heah’s yer chuck,” announced the cowpuncher. “I hope it chokes ye!” added the man, backing out and locking the door.
The sight of food made Stacy forget his troubles for the time being, and he helped himself freely of the liberal meal. Upon second thought, the boy stowed part of the food in his pockets, thinking it might be useful later on, for he had hopes of making his escape.
After finishing his meal he climbed the ladder to the top of the hay loft and floundered about in the faint light for some time, hoping to find a window. There was none. Getting down, he tried the mow on the other side of the barn, but with no better results, whereupon Chunky returned to the floor and sat down, head in hands.
“Tomorrow, if I am here, I’ll be on my way to jail,” he reflected. “Of course it will all come out right. They won’t keep me there long, but I don’t like the idea of going to jail when there is so much going on over in the valley. Besides, a fellow doesn’t get very good food in these western jails, so I’ve heard. I’ve got to get out of here. That’s flat!”
The Overland boy got up and leaned against the hay wagon that stood on the barn floor. One hand came in contact with one of the pins, oak pins about a yard long, that keep the hay on the rack when loading. He pulled the pin out and felt over its entire length. It was smooth, worn so from long usage, and the feel of it was good to Stacy Brown. It was something that might be used for a weapon as well as a tool. With it he tried to pry open the barn door, but the door would not budge. Once more the fat boy was at the end of his resources, but as he stood leaning against the door, he heard some one fussing with the lock.
Stacy was instantly on the alert as some one opened the door.
“Hey, ye hoss thief! Whar be ye? The boss reckons as I’d better start for Carrago with ye now so as to git thar in the mornin’ an’ git back in good season.”