He turned swiftly and silently in his silken slippers and glided off without a backward look.
"Well, what do you make of that?" wondered Roy.
"Oh, Roy, don't you see. He was worshiping this joss, as he calls
Clara's little jade god. Just think, this may be a way out of it.
If we can make him believe that—that—"
"That we stand in with his josh—joss—what do you call it?—you mean that we can scare him into letting us have horses to-night and escaping.
"How you do run ahead, Roy. I hadn't thought of that yet. But it might be done. He said he was coming back by and by. I wonder what he wants?"
"Maybe your blessing," grinned Roy. "But come on. Let's tackle this stew while it's hot. It looks great to me after that jack-rabbit supper."
"And this is bread—real bread, too!" cried Peggy, following Roy's example of "tackling the stew."
It was ten minutes after the last mouthful had disappeared that the tall, red-sashed young outlaw came toward the shack in front of which brother and sister were seated.
"The boss wants to see you," he said briefly, and signed to them to follow him.
Red Bill Summers sat alone before the remains of the Chinese cook's dinner. The other outlaws were busied staking out their ponies and removing the dust and perspiration from the little animals' coats. Far off, like a lost spirit, the treacherous Juan with his burro, could be seen.