"Got a pencil and a bit of paper, Buck?" he asked.
The red-sashed one produced the required pencil—a much bitten stub—and then set off toward the cook house for a bit of paper. He returned with the fly leaf out of an old account book.
"Good enough," said Red Bill. "Now then younker," turning to Roy, "you take this pencil, lay that paper on that flat rock and write as I tell you."
Wondering what was coming, Roy obeyed, while Peggy with wondering eyes looked on anxiously at the strange scene. It had grown quite still in the little valley. The only sounds that occasionally interrupted the hush were the shouts of the men tethering the ponies and the harsh scream of a buzzard swinging high against the burning blue of the desert sky.
"Mister Bell, dear sir," began Red Bill, dictating in his rasping voice.
"All right," said Roy, transcribing the words to the paper. The boy had an inkling of what was to come, but he didn't wish to make trouble before he actually had to.
"Got that, did you?"
'Yes.
"Very well. Now write this: 'Me an' my sister is in the hands of those who are our friends at present. It depends on you if they remain so. The messenger who brings you this will arrange for the transfer of the location papers of the mine to these parties. If you don't do this they will—'"
Red Bill paused and shoving back his sombrero scratched his rubicund poll.