“Sandy will stay here with the prisoner and the ponies. If he attempts another break for liberty, shoot him on the spot.”
The trembling young Scotchman made no reply.
“Did you hear me, Sandy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’ll do as I say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Now—with regard to my plan: With the exception of Toma, we’re all heavily armed. Toma, you will take the half-breed’s rifle. The three of us will set out at once for the outlaws’ cabin, which is situated about two hundred yards straight ahead of us. Toma will circle around to the left, Dick to the right, while I will proceed directly along this trail to the place where Richardson disappeared. Neither one of you will fire a shot unless cornered—or in self-defense. What I want to do first of all is to try to find Richardson. If he hasn’t been taken to the cabin, he won’t be very far from the place I saw him last. Naturally, he’ll be heavily guarded. In some way we must secure his release.”
Rand ceased speaking. An unearthly hush had settled around them. Dick was shaking as if from the ague. Terror gripped him. Thankful he was that the darkness shadowed his face. He realized that his cheeks must be ghastly white. In spite of the cold, drops of moisture had gathered on his forehead. He seemed to be burning up. Like Sandy, he had temporarily lost the use of his tongue.
“Any questions to ask?” tersed Rand.
“N-n—no,” Dick heard himself stammering.