“Who locked this door? Where’s La Qua? The boys are ready to start.”
Instantly he perceived that he had committed a blunder. Dick and Toma he had never seen before. Slightly puzzled, he took one step forward, when he felt the steel muzzle of Rand’s revolver poking him in the ribs.
“Stand right where you are,” said the corporal pleasantly. “Glad you came in. Permit me to relieve you of your hardware.”
One glance into the steady eyes, a look at the familiar uniform, and the intruder saw the futility of resistance. Yet there was bluster in his voice.
“What does this mean?”
“It means that the fun’s over,” Rand stated evenly. “Stand right where you are! So the pack-train’s ready to start?”
The prisoner made no reply. Tall, sullen, resentful—unflinchingly he met the cool gray eyes of the mounted policeman.
“Come, speak up! I mean business!” Rand shoved his revolver into the man’s ribs again. There was nothing pleasant about his voice now.
“They’re ready tuh start if yuh want to know,” begrudgingly answered the outlaw.
“Are you heading straight for the pass?”